2  98  =• 


•         '.:'• 


ROME  .  .  .  GAVE  HIS  FIRST  PERFORMANCE  (page  148) 


ROMAN 
B  I  Z  N  E  T 

By  GEORGIA  WOOD  PANGBOBN 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUQHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

•tbe  RmewiDe  press,  CambriDge 

1902 


COPYRIGHT,   1902,   BY   GEORGIA   WOOD   PANGBORN 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Publishtd  April,  igoa 


TO 

M.  C.  W. 


2137679 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  GRASSHOPPERS 3 

n.  AT  THE  HOP-HOUSE 9 

HI.  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ANT 14 

IV.  AJLPHONSINE 17 

V.  ANTOINE  DEPARTS 23 

VI.  DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME    ....  28 

VII.  KITTY  ENTERS  GOOD  SOCIETY        ....  41 

Vin.  A  MARCH  MORNINQ 51 

IX.  THE  LORD  INDICATES  A  DUTY  FOR  Miss  TRACY.  60 

X.  BESSIE  HEATHWAY'S  ANXIETIES        ...  67 

XI.  FAMEUSE  APPLES  —  AND  THE  LOUP-OAROU  .        .  72 

XIL  "UNNECESSARY" 81 

PART  H 

I.  ROMAN  BIZNET  is  "GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"       .  105 

n.  BEHIND  THE  WISTARIA  VINE     ....  125 

III.  A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS 137 

IV.  PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST         .        .  151 
V.  ROMAN  BIZNET'S  AMENDMENT       ....  165 

VI.  ADLOR  ENCOUNTERS  THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN  .  174 

VII.  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS 185 

VIII.  AFTER  THE  STORM 196 

IX.  KITTY  AND  THE  FORNARINA 204 

X.  "  Two  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  us "    .        .        .  211 
XL  A  PRECEDENT  WHICH  DOES  NOT  APPLY        .        .  225 
XII.  A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE        ....  233 
XIII.  KITTY  CONTO'S  HERESY  —  AND  A  STRANGE  VIO- 
LINIST     -.  246 

XTV.  KITTY  SOLVES  HER  PROBLEM     .        .       . ""     .  255 

XV.   DOCTOR  WINTHROP  CONSIDERS  AN  ALLEGORY     .  264 


PART  I 


ROMAN  BIZNET 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  GRASSHOPPEBS 

THE  Biznets  came  to  Cosmos  at  hop-picking 
time,  seeking  Alphonsine  Conto,  like  two  unprofit- 
able grasshoppers  coming  to  an  ant  at  the  end  of 
summer. 

Tony  Biznet,  frayed  and  gaunt,  carried  a  fiddle, 
—  that  instrument  of  grasshoppers ;  his  walk,  too, 
had  a  light,  wiry  swing,  more  like  the  motion  of 
insect  legs  than  the  muscular  plod  of  vertebrates. 
The  boy  trotted  along  so  close  under  the  elbow 
encircling  the  violin  that  he  banged  his  head 
against  it  now  and  then. 

It  was  late  twilight,  a  day  and  a  night  having 
elapsed  in  their  journey  from  the  country  of  the 
habitants.  But  they  went  now  at  a  better  pace, 
for  when  they  started  Phoebe  Biznet  was  with 
them,  and  now  they  had  left  her,  some  five  miles 
back,  with  moles,  squirrels,  owls,  falling  leaves; 
with  some  inches'  depth  of  black  earth  to  protect 
her  from  the  night  and  whatever  might  prowl  in 
it.  She  had  always  been  afraid  of  night  and  lone- 
liness ;  her  timidity  in  this  particular  so  annoying 


4  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Antoine  that  he  had  tried  to  beat  it  out  of  her, 
this  being  what  made  it  necessary,  in  the  end,  to 
leave  her  behind,  with  a  covering  of  earth  and 
leaves. 

Although  his  mother  had  often  told  him  this 
thing  was  bound  to  happen  some  time,  now  that  it 
was  accomplished,  Roman  Biznet  was  put  in  great 
doubt  and  dismay.  Yet,  since  she  could  fore- 
tell it,  it  must  have  been  one  of  those  inevitable 
things  which  it  is  unreasonable  to  object  to,  like 
weather  or  white  whiskey ;  and  if  one  can't  avoid 
an  unpleasant  thing,  it  is  best  to  be  philosophical 
about  it;  then,  too,  if  one's  grandmother  was  a 
squaw,  she  probably  had  much  to  be  philosophical 
about,  which  makes  it  easier  for  her  posterity  to 
be  so. 

He  and  his  mother  had  accepted  life  and  An- 
toine without  much  comment,  although  Phoebe  had 
sometimes  referred  to  a  happy  childhood  in  terms 
that  seemed  to  imply  regret  and  desire  for  change. 
One  night  Antoine  was  hunting  them  both  with  a 
carving  knife,  —  an  unusual  state  of  affairs,  for  as 
a  rule  Phoebe  was  a  fugitive  alone,  while  Antoine 
kept  the  boy  by  him  as  an  equal,  a  partisan,  an 
audience  for  his  fiddle,  since  he  knew  enough  to 
be  silent,  while  Phoebe  talked  or  laughed  or  cried, 
and  paid  no  attention  to  fine  passages.  But  that 
night  Roman  Biznet  had  suggested  that  he  would 
like  to  play  the  fiddle  himself,  which  was  not  to  be 
thought  of;  and  they  had  hidden  among  some 
stacked  hop-poles,  where  it  was  quiet,  warm,  and 
comfortable.  There  was  something  homelike  and 


THE  GRASSHOPPERS  5 

consolatory  in  the  wigwam  shape  of  the  stacked 
poles,  although  they  had  no  knowledge  of  wig- 
wams; but  if  one's  ancestors  have  lived  in  such 
since  foxes  had  holes  and  birds  of  the  air  nests, 
hop-poles,  indistinctly  cone-shaped  in  the  starlight, 
must  seem  a  natural  sanctuary. 

Antoine  having  gone  back  to  his  whiskey  blano 
and  his  fiddle,  Phrabe  had  talked  to  the  boy  until 
after  cock-crow  about  a  glorious  place  called  Cos- 
mos, where  was  much  food  and  but  little  whiskey 
blanc.  Everybody  was  young  there,  and  happy, 
the  women  having  beautiful  dresses  and  dancing 
much  of  the  time ;  and  there  was  an  event  called 
the  County  Fair,  during  which  Antoine  had  once 
played  for  the  dancing.  In  this  strange  town  even 
Antoine  had  seemed  a  pretty  good  fellow. 

Phoebe  also  told  of  a  woman  who  lived  there, 
large,  strong,  and  kind,  to  whom  Phoebe  said  she 
would  go  some  day  and  take  Eoman  with  her. 
But  now  it  was  Antoine  who  was  taking  him,  and 
this  did  not  seem  fair  or  reasonable,  —  to  leave 
Phoabe  behind  in  the  way  they  had  done  and  then 
to  seek  out  Phosbe's  sister. 

"I'm  tired." 

Eoman  Biznet  sat  down  in  front  of  his  father 
like  a  period.  It  never  paid  to  argue  a  matter 
with  Antoine.  That  was  where  Phoebe  had  made 
so  many  mistakes.  If  one  merely  did  a  thing  as  a 
matter  of  course,  it  was  likely  to  pass  unnoticed. 
Antoine's  long  legs  skipped  over  him  before  their 
momentum  could  be  arrested. 

"Sacre-edam!" 


6  ROMAN  BIZNET 

He  poised  an  instant  on  one  foot,  gesticulat- 
ing suggestively  at  the  period  with  the  other,  but 
thought  better  of  it  and  scratched  the  calf  of  his 
leg  instead.  He  peered  uncertainly  at  the  with- 
ered bushes  either  side  of  the  narrow  road,  south- 
ward where  a  planet,  in  the  direction  of  Cosmos, 
was  like  a  window  light,  but  not  backward,  where 
Canada  was  a  purple  bank  of  cloud  between  the 
faded  red  bands  of  the  sunset  and  the  St.  Law- 
rence. Antoine  vaguely  suspected  that  he  might 
as  well  ask  alms  of  the  planet  itself  as  of  the 
homely  gleam  of  his  sister-in-law's  window.  It  is 
a  sordid  world. 

"  But  we  can't  get  anything  to  eat  here." 

His  voice  was  rasping,  as  one  would  expect  of  a 
grasshopper  houseless  on  frosty  nights,  but  there 
was  a  certain  deference  in  his  tone,  as  to  an  equal. 

The  period  said  nothing,  but  curled  itself  into  a 
rounder  and  more  invincible  full  stop.  Antoine 
shuffled  uneasily  from  one  tired  foot  to  the  other. 
But  Hermes,  god  of  grasshoppers,  is  a  kindly 
deity.  Something  within  the  brush  fidgeted  on  a 
branch,  saying  querulously  to  its  fellow,  "  Tut, 
tut !  Don't  crowd  so !  " 

Antoine  glided  into  the  bushes,  first  placing 
the  violin,  with  threatening  pantomime,  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree.  The  boy  swiftly  unhooked  the  bat- 
tered case  and  poked  his  fingers  among  the 
strings,  carefully  as  one  touches  the  hand  of  a 
sleeping  baby  in  its  cradle,  coaxing  tiny  guitar 
sounds  from  it;  grinning  widely  and  defiantly 
into  the  bushes,  whence  came  stifled  squawks. 


THE  GRASSHOPPERS  7 

When  Antoine  returned,  two  limp  bunches  of 
feathers  dangling  from  his  hand,  the  violin  was 
as  he  had  left  it,  his  son  still  coiled  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road,  staring  moodily  southward  at  the 
thickening  darkness. 

"You've  been  at  it!" 

"  Tiens  !  "  said  the  boy  quietly,  without  turning 
his  head. 

Antoine  stepped  forward,  hesitated,  then  opened 
the  case,  and  looked  at  the  fiddle.  This  reassured 
him,  and  they  amicably  sought  a  near-by  field,  peo- 
pled with  ghostly  stacks  of  corn  and  scattered 
pumpkins,  made  a  fire  of  pilfered  rails,  and  in  it 
placed  the  chickens,  rolled  up  in  balls  of  mud. 
These,  with  a  few  ears  of  corn,  so  old  and  dry  that 
none  but  the  emptiest  stomach  could  have  consid- 
ered them,  and  some  bellefleur  apples,  stolen  by 
the  boy  while  his  father  prepared  the  rest  of  the 
dinner,  soon  made  a  better  meal  than  the  ant  was 
wont  to  set  upon  her  table.  They  cracked  open 
the  mud  balls,  out  of  which  the  chickens  popped 
clean  and  featherless,  like  nut-meats  from  their 
shells,  and  they  ate  without  salt  and  picked  the 
bones. 

Sitting  crosslegged  by  the  fire,  watching  it  with 
their  glowing  black  eyes,  they  laid  aside  tempo- 
rarily the  armed  neutrality  in  which  they  were 
journeying,  and  munched  apples  good-naturedly. 
Antoine  lit  his  pipe,  and  the  boy,  producing  a 
corncob  pipe  of  his  own  make,  received  enough 
tobacco,  so  that  when  he  had  pieced  it  out  with 
corn-husk  shreds  he  enjoyed  a  full-fledged  smoke. 


8  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Wat  you  gon  do  in  Cosmos  ? "  he  asked  at 
last  with  a  judicial  air. 

Antoine  puffed  languidly,  taking  counsel  of  the 
lurid  coals ;  his  face,  as  the  red  light  played  upon 
it,  seemed  quiet  and  gentle  enough,  but  the  boy  set 
his  little  lips  grimly  on  the  stem  of  his  pipe  as  he 
watched  him. 

"  Wat  you  gon  do  in  Cosmos,  hein  ? "  he  re- 
peated peremptorily. 

Antoine  roused  slightly,  glancing  at  his  son  in 
an  absent-minded  way. 

"  Do  ?     Oh,  get  a  job,  I  suppose." 

"Fiddling?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Wat  if  Phosy  ain't  there? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Me,  I  'm  gon  to  school." 

"  Suit  yourself." 

Antoine  took  the  fiddle  from  its  case  and  began 
to  play,  knowing  that  he  could  thus  melt  his  son's 
unpleasantly  practical  humor;  and  as  he  played 
a  listener,  understanding  the  ways  of  the  world, 
would  have  wondered  why  this  man  need  find  him- 
self poor  and  ragged. 

Roman  Biznet  cuddled  into  a  posture  whence  he 
could  watch  his  father,  the  fire,  the  stars,  while 
puffing  his  pipe. 

They  did  not  sleep  that  night,  but  went  on  in  an 
hour  or  so.  At  sunrise  they  breakfasted  on  what 
apples  were  left,  and  crawled  into  a  thicket  close 
by  a  noisy  little  brook  to  sleep  for  the  day. 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  THE  HOP-HOUSE 

IT  rained  on  them,  a  drizzle  that  the  trees  would 
have  kept  out  a  week  before.  But  the  trees  were 
going  suddenly  brown  and  threadbare.  Antoine 
slept,  snoring  in  an  unlovely  manner,  his  loose  red 
lips  open,  a  frown  on  his  low  forehead,  which  was 
wrinkled  in  three  furrows  from  temple  to  temple, 
the  lax  skin  permitting  him  to  bristle  his  scalp 
when  angry,  as  a  dog  raises  his  hackles. 

The  boy  kept  awake,  shivering,  his  face  turned 
toward  Canada  through  the  gray  rain.  Once  he 
went  back  to  the  road,  and  stood  so  long  in  the 
chilly  mud,  looking  toward  the  north,  that  he  had 
much  ado  to  get  his  feet  from  the  sucking  mire, 
when  he  gave  it  up  at  last,  and  went  back  to  his 
father. 

At  twilight  the  ceasing  of  the  rain  and  a  dis- 
mal flare  of  crimson  in  the  west  roused  them,  as 
normal  creatures  are  roused  at  sunrise,  and  they 
tramped  on  so  nimbly  that  at  ten  o'clock  they 
reached  the  outskirts  of  Cosmos,  and  ate  their 
supper,  sitting  on  a  barren  hill  whose  sand  had 
drunk  up  the  day's  rain  and  still  was  thirsty.  The 
town's  lights  were  already  winking  out  one  by  one. 
Beneath  was  a  valley,  and  a  prosperous  hop-yard 
in  it,  half  harvested.  The  hop-house  window  was 


10  ROMAN  BIZNET 

alight,  the  sounds  that  came  up  proving  the  hop- 
pickers  not  too  tired  with  their  day's  work  for 
merrymaking.  Somebody  was  playing  on  a  comb, 
and  the  raucous  rasping  of  it  was  as  if  an  ill- 
advised  katydid  were  trying  a  new  tune  and  mak- 
ing bad  work  of  it.  Feet  were  pounding  rhythmi- 
cally like  the  drumming  of  a  piston;  "thumpty, 
thumpty,  thumpty."  At  intervals  a  nasal  voice 
called  off  figures. 

Antoine  grinned.     "  I  bet  I^hosy  's  there.'* 

He  grew  suddenly  sober  and  scratched  his  head, 
taking  off  his  hat  for  the  purpose,  and  cast  a  side- 
long look  at  the  small  hunched  shoulders  of  his 
son.  Something  in  the  expression  of  that  little 
back  did  not  please  him,  and  he  burst  violently 
into  a  long  anatomical  lecture  about  the  various 
things  he  would  do  to  the  boy  if  he  failed  to  keep 
his  mouth  shut.  But  the  contemptuous  shoulders 
seemed  no  wise  impressed. 

Antoine  faltered  in  the  middle  of  a  swear  word, 
and  filled  his  pipe  with  unsteady  fingers.  "  You  — 
you  don't  want  your  father  hung,  do  you,  Romy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind." 

"  Anyhow,  I  did  n't  do  anything,  or  I  did  n't 
mean  to,  and  it  would  just  make  your  Aunt  Phosy 
feel  bad.  What 's  the  use  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  assented  his  son  carelessly,  "  I  guess 
maybe  I  won't  tell,  but  you  got  to  behave  your- 
self." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  said  Antoine  heartily, 
drawing  upon  the  red  glow  of  his  pipe.  "  Don't 
you  worry  about  that."  He  clapped  his  son's 


AT  THE  HOP-HOUSE  11 

shoulders  affectionately,  and  then  examined  the 
violin  to  see  what  harm  had  come  to  it  in  the  rain. 
The  air  was  growing  dry  and  cold,  and  she  might 
come  out  of  her  case  presently. 

But  the  boy  had  no  desire  to  hear  his  father's 
fiddle  whine  that  night.  He  had  visions  of  mo- 
therly women,  with  the  smell  of  cooking  about 
their  calico  wrappers  ;  of  boys  of  his  own  age,  peo- 
ple who  knew  nothing  about  music ;  and  the  racket 
in  the  hop-house  pleased  his  ear ;  the  gleaming  red 
window  drew  him  like  an  inquisitive  moth. 

The  window  was  high,  but  a  beam  had  been 
braced  against  that  side  of  the  house  to  correct  a 
tumble-down  tendency,  and  up  this  Roman  Biznet 
scrambled  until  he  could  look  in.  As  he  knotted 
himself  about  the  beam,  the  dancers  were  dwin- 
dling, leaving  only  a  woman,  whose  long  'black  hair 
switched  in  a  braid  below  her  waist,  instructing  a 
tiny  girl  in  a  species  of  clog  dance,  —  something 
with  a  shuffle  and  a  kick  and  a  stamp,  most  em- 
phatic in  its  rhythm ;  the  child,  screaming  with 
delight,  jumped  up  and  down  and  crosswise  all  out 
of  time,  while  the  woman's  face  was  as  sober  and 
anxious  as  if  it  had  been  a  sewing  instead  of  a 
dancing  lesson. 

The  comb-player,  a  withered  old  Frenchman, 
slapped  the  floor  with  his  great  feet  in  time  with 
his  music.  Mothers  of  families  were  fastening 
quilts  and  blankets  to  the  beams  to  shut  in  their 
own  particular  households  for  the  night,  and  gos- 
siped among  the  draperies  with  cheerful  nasal 
twang. 


12  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Hi,  Phosy  Conto,  you  'n'  your  li'P  gal  gon  danse 
all  night  ?  I  can't  sleep,  me.  Gimme  my  comb, 
you  Pete." 

A  withered  face  poked  out  from  a  tattered  quilt. 
The  comb-player  meekly  wiped  his  instrument  with 
the  paper  which  had  been  wrapped  about  it,  and 
delivered  it  to  the  outstretched  hand.  Phosy  Conto 
tossed  her  head  and  pinned  up  her  own  blankets, 
still  keeping  up  a  dancing  motion  as  she  worked, 
while  the  little  girl  played  bear  with  the  old  woman 
who  had  objected. 

The  boy  at  the  window  flattened  his  nose  against 
the  glass,  and  grinned  wistfully.  So  that  was  his 
Tante  Phosy,  for  there  could  not  be  two  of  that 
name,  so  tall  and  strong  and  good-natured,  and 
there  was  something  about  her  —  a  film  of  likeness 
which  eluded  the  eye  if  one  looked  at  her  feature 
by  feature  —  which  made  her  Phrebe's  sister  with- 
out a  doubt. 

The  room  was  resonant  with  nasal  speech  and 
laughter.  But  they  were  suddenly  frozen  and  si- 
lent, their  cheerful  faces  bleak  with  fear.  From 
somewhere  at  the  edge  of  the  night  outside,  a  thin 
blade  of  sound  cut  through  their  noise,  a  shrill  and 
desolate  cry,  which  might  have  been  the  dreary 
hoot  of  an  owl,  but  was  not ;  nor  was  it  the  howl  of 
a  dog.  A  human  creature  frightened  and  hurt 
might  wail  like  that,  and  yet  it  was  hardly  human. 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  c'est  ? "  somebody  whispered 
with  stiff  lips. 

"  Chat ! " 

"  Pas  de  tout,  —  de  tout ! " 


AT  THE  HOP-HOUSE  13 

"Los'bebe?" 

"  Squire  Heathway's  bloodhound." 

"  Non,  c'est  une  femme.     Elle  pleure." 

"  Loup-garou !  " 

The  last  opinion  seemed  to  meet  the  assent  of 
the  crowd.  There  was  a  hissing  intake  of  breath. 
Mothers  picked  up  whimpering  children.  Men 
tried  to  get  behind  each  other. 

The  boy,  flattened  to  his  beam,  shook  with  tearful 
laughter.  He  slid  down  backward  as  a  cat  comes 
down  a  tree,  and  ran  quickly  through  the  sandy 
mud.  He  feared  pursuit.  There  had  been  a  red- 
haired  man  who  did  not  shake  like  the  rest,  and  he 
had  pulled  on  his  boots  while  the  others  shivered. 

The  door  of  the  hop-house  banged  behind  him ; 
Pete  Mountain's  boots  were  on,  and  he  was  com- 
ing to  see  about  that  loup-garou.  Roman  Biznet 
rushed  to  his  father  then,  and  cuffed  him  on  the 
ears. 

"  Va-t-en,  you  old  crapaud  !  " 

Antoine  paused  long  enough  in  his  artistic  en- 
joyment to  hear  Pete  Mountain's  approaching  steps, 
then  grunted  and  quietly  put  the  violin  in  its  case, 
even  polishing  the  bow,  so  nonchalant  was  he,  and 
the  two  faded  gently  away. 


CHAPTER  in 

THE  HOUSE   OF  THE  ANT 

THE  house  of  the  ant,  little,  gray  with  weather, 
lay  with  others  like  it  at  the  base  of  a  barren  shoul- 
der of  a  hill,  but  higher  up  than  its  fellows,  with 
an  aloofness  that  was  partly  a  mental  attitude,  Al- 
phonsine  St.  Luce  Conto  being  an  aristocrat. 

She  could  neither  read  nor  write,  though  she 
knew  which  side  up  to  hold  her  prayer-book,  and 
when  to  turn  the  leaves  as  the  priest  read.  Her 
great-grandfather  had  been  "  Paris  French  ;  "  and 
according  to  most  emphatic  tradition,  this  gentle- 
man had  been  a  marquis  in  his  day,  riding  about 
the  streets  of  Paris  in  a  golden  coach.  Afterward 
he  rode  as  complacently  in  a  tumbril,  with  other 
seigneurs,  when  tumbrils  replaced  golden  coaches 
as  the  proper  thing.  It  was  then  that  St.  Luce 
fils,  escaping  by  some  one  of  the  romantic  devices 
described  in  the  many  stories  of  that  time,  came  to 
America,  married  a  squaw,  a  chief's  daughter,  and 
shared  his  father-in-law's  wigwam.  The  next  gen- 
eration settled  down  in  St.  Regis  and  degenerated, 
after  the  manner  of  half-breeds. 

But  the  golden  coach  was  kept  bright  in  their 
memories,  if  becoming  somewhat  hazy,  like  a  solar 
myth,  from  much  imagining.  Alphonsine  rocked 
Kitty  Conto  to  sleep  with  a  drowsy  but  gorgeous 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  ANT  15 

tale  of  a  magnificent  gentleman  who  wore  a  stove- 
pipe hat  daily,  whose  trousers  were  creased  ac- 
curately, like  Squire  Heathway's,  who  kept  two 
washerwomen  busy,  being  dainty  beyond  belief 
about  his  linen.  And  the  diamond  studs  in  his 
shirt  bosom  were  as  big  and  bright  as  the  jewels 
on  Victoria's  crown.  If  Alphonsine  had  one  of 
those,  it  was  n't  a  dye-shop  she  and  Kitty  would 
be  having ;  it  was  a  house  as  big  as  the  Protestant 
church ;  and  Miss  Emily  Tracy  and  Mrs.  Heathway 
would  be  coming  to  take  tea  with  them  every  night. 
And  dolls  ?  And  dolls  as  big  as  Kitty's  self.  And 
a  liT  p'tit  rocking  chair  ?  Mais  oui,  twenty  liT 
p'tit  rocking  chairs.  And  a  liT  p'tit  chicken  for 
the  ole  yellow  hen  ?  Yes,  as  many  liT  chickens  as 
the  ole  yellow  hen  could  ask  for. 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  ancient  grandeur  about 
the  dye-shop.  One  might  even  fancy  a  certain 
military  glory  redivivus  in  the  swinging  cloths,  like 
banners,  dripping  red  as  blood,  or  yellow  as  lemons, 
or  blue  as  turquoise.  The  drip  of  many  colors  on 
the  absorbent  pine  floor  stained  it  richly,  although 
pans  were  put  beneath  the  drip  and  every  new  slop 
was  greeted  with  outcry  and  wiped  up  at  once.  But 
for  this  prompt  polishing,  the  effect  would  doubt- 
less have  been  dingy,  but  with  it,  —  at  least  ac- 
cording to  Kitty,  —  one  might  play  at  walking 
about  on  sunset  clouds. 

It  was  after  Alphonsine  became  a  widow,  Ba'tiste 
having  gone  to  Purgatory  with  great  suddenness 
in  the  ruck  of  a  log  jam  one  spring,  that  she  de- 
cided to  rise  in  the  social  scale  for  Kitty's  sake. 


16  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Ba'tiste  had  been  no  good  until  he  saved  a  little 
French  village  with  his  life,  and  Alphonsine  had 
supported  her  husband  and  baby  up  to  that  time 
by  washing.  It  was  surprising  how  large  a  part  of 
the  population  of  Cosmos  wore  linen  of  her  whiten- 
ing. There  was  the  power  of  a  steam  laundry  in 
those  mighty  arms.  Cosmos  pleaded  and  almost 
wept  when  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  daughter  of 
a  dyer  of  cloth  could  meet  the  world  with  a  prouder 
face  than  the  daughter  of  a  washer  of  soiled  linen. 

There  was  less  money  in  dyeing,  to  be  sure,  but 
one  had  to  sacrifice  something  to  family  tradition. 
The  old  marquis,  she  was  positive,  would  have  ap- 
proved the  dye-shop. 

This  was  the  house,  then,  that  the  Biznets  came 
to  on  leaving  the  hop-yard,  Antoine  nonchalantly 
picking  the  lock,  which  yielded  as  if  to  a  master 
key. 

Even  before  striking  a  light  they  sniffed  out  all 
the  provisions,  placing  them  together  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  kitchen  table.  They  made  a  brisk  fire, 
and  cooked  everything,  just  for  the  joy  of  smelling 
it,  and  looking  upon  it  when  they  could  eat  no 
more.  Then  leaving  the  dishes  soiled  and  scat- 
tered, the  stove  greasy  and  strewn  with  ashes,  they 
curled  up  snugly  in  Phosy's  trim  bed,  a  frouzy 
black  head  in  the  middle  of  each  crisp  pillow  sham, 
and  slept  as  only  weary  grasshoppers  can  sleep, 
who,  after  a  desolate  march,  come  upon  warmth 
for  their  idle  legs  and  food  for  their  empty  craws. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ALPHONSINE 

LATE  in  the  next  afternoon,  Alphonsine  re- 
turned, she  and  Kitty  having  left  the  wagon  of 
hop-pickers  in  the  valley.  It  was  a  fair  warm  day, 
ripe  with  the  odor  of  red  and  yellow  leaves  shrivel- 
ing in  the  sun.  They  came  slowly  along  the  wind- 
ing lane,  for  Kitty  had  to  go  through  the  deepest 
places  in  the  rustling  drifts  of  leaves,  becoming 
delightfully  lost  and  overwhelmed  therein,  for  she 
was  a  little  body,  doing  all  things  with  enthusiasm. 
In  her  red  calico  slip,  she  might  have  been  the 
genius  of  all  red  maple  leaves. 

They  rounded  a  hillock,  whence  they  should  have 
seen  their  little  house  demurely  shuttered  and 
locked,  but  it  was  wide  open  to  the  western  sun- 
shine, the  grasshoppers  sunning  in  the  doorway. 

Kitty  whimpered.  Alphonsine  stood  with  fallen 
jaw  and  angry  eye.  "  My  Lord !  It 's  dat  Tony 
Biznet,  come  back  lak  one  chicken  for  roost! 
Were'sPhoabe?" 

Antoine  looked  mournful,  saying  nothing,  but 
staring  at  the  ground  in  an  effective  way.  His 
eyelids  blinked  rapidly,  as  if  winking  away  tears  ; 
but  once,  in  his  youth,  an  angry  abbe  had  said, 
"  I  can  always  tell  when  you  are  lying,  my  son,  for 
your  eyelids  quiver  as  if  you  were  facing  a  strong 
light." 


18  ROMAN  BIZNET 

The  boy  looked  his  aunt  over  slowly  and  com- 
prehensively. Phosy  turned  upon  him  fiercely. 

"  Were  's  you  mere  ?  " 

"  Morte,"  answered  the  boy. 

Phosy  stood  quite  still  and  expressionless,  and 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  rustle  of  leaves  about 
her.  Then  she  threw  her  apron  over  her  head, 
and  groped  into  the  kitchen  ;  Kitty  put  both  thumbs 
into  her  mouth,  and  scowled  at  the  strangers ;  Ro- 
man Biznet,  turning  his  back  upon  the  three,  sat 
down  on  the  door-sill,  and  stared  sulkily  at  the 
autumn  sunshine. 

"  Wat  did  she  die  of,  Tony  ?  "  asked  Phosy  after 
a  long  silence. 

Antoine  shuffled  his  feet,  glancing  inquiringly 
at  his  son's  back.  He  could  lie  glibly  enough  him- 
self, but  wished  to  be  certain  how  far  the  boy  would 
back  him  up. 

"  Consumption,"  he  ventured  at  length.  The  boy 
nodded  approvingly,  and  Antoine's  face  cleared. 
Then  Roman  Biznet  considerately  left  the  two, 
that  his  father  might  lie  with  greater  ease. 

Glancing  back,  as  he  shuffled  into  the  lane  of 
leaves,  he  saw  Tony  seated,  with  his  head  on  his 
hands,  as  though  in  deep  dejection.  The  red  maple 
leaf  of  a  girl  was  coming  after  him,  for  grown  peo- 
ple in  trouble  are  tiresome,  and  apt  to  be  cross  to 
little  girls. 

He  waited  for  her;  and  then  she  came  more 
slowly,  making  a  pretense  of  finding  things  of  in- 
terest at  the  side  of  the  road,  from  the  examination 
of  which  she  would  dart  sudden  glances  at  him, 


ALPHONSINE  19 

keeping  her  thumb  in  her  mouth  the  while.  At  a 
yard's  distance  she  stopped  and  smiled  up  at  him 
under  her  hair,  which  was  cut  short  in  a  bang  and 
hung  below  her  eyebrows.  His  gloomy  face  bright- 
ened with  a  shadow  of  the  same  smile  ;  a  little 
one-sided  smile  it  was  they  had  in  common ;  their 
mouths  were  alike,  fine  at  the  corners  and  sensi- 
tive. 

"  Do  you  —  go  to  school  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  ain't  big  enough.  Lizzie  Orleana  goes 
to  school.  I've  got  a  doll.  She  hasn't  got  a 
doll." 

"  You  don't  say !  " 

"Adlor  Santwire  goes  to  school.  But  he  stayed 
out  for  hop-picking.  That 's  him." 

Roman  Biznet  noticed  the  roof  of  another 
house,  one  step  lower  down  the  hill,  and  sitting 
astride  the  ridgepole  a  boy,  older  than  himself, 
cracking  nuts  with  a  brick  he  had  taken  from  the 
chimney,  picking  the  nuts  from  an  overhanging 
branch. 

"Come  and  see  our  hen's  nest,"  said  Kitty. 
"There  ain't  any  eggs  in  it.  A  rat  gets  them.  I 
made  the  nest  myself." 

She  took  his  hand,  always  keeping  one  of  her 
thumbs  in  her  mouth,  and  led  him,  with  much 
mystery,  to  a  high  board  fence,  draped  with  a  hop 
vine  or  two,  and  the  frosted  black  remnant  of  a 
morning-glory  vine.  There  was  a  cunningly  hid- 
den symmetrical  nest  of  hay,  quite  empty ;  a  yel- 
low hen,  much  frayed  from  molting,  scuttled  out 
of  the  vines. 


20  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  That 's  her !  "  said  Kitty,  in  a  tone  of  deep  re- 
spect. "  That 's  my  hen." 

There  was  a  scrambling  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fence,  and  grimy  fingers  appeared,  clinched  upon 
the  top.  Then  rose  a  shock  of  blue-black  hair, 
and  a  smile. 

"Hello,  Adlor." 

Adlor  looked  doubtfully  at  the  stranger,  then 
abruptly  emptied  a  pint  of  butternut  meats  into 
Kitty's  outstretched  apron  and  disappeared.  They 
sat  in  the  hen's  nest,  and  shared  them. 

They  did  not  return  to  the  house  until  after 
dusk,  Roman  Biznet  feeling  a  delicacy  about  meet- 
ing his  aunt,  while  Kitty  did  not  like  the  new 
man.  The  boy  accepted  her  verdict  upon  his  fa- 
ther with  gloomy  acquiescence.  He  did  not  care 
particularly  about  him  himself.  Yet,  for  the  fam- 
ily reputation,  he  entered  into  glowing  accounts  of 
Tony's  skill  with  the  violin,  until  Kitty  became 
anxious  to  go  back  to  the  house  for  the  purpose  of 
seeing  such  a  wonder. 

The  ant  gave  them  no  supper  that  night.  It 
was  long  past  supper  time  when  she  thought  of 
food  at  all.  Then  she  looked  about  her,  and  saw 
the  remnants  of  the  grasshopper  menage. 

As  her  grief  for  Phoebe  had  been  quietly  stoical, 
her  anger  at  the  disorder  was  loud  and  fierce.  The 
larder  was  bare,  —  not  a  pinch  of  tea  or  an  ounce 
of  bacon,  not  an  onion,  not  a  dried  pea ;  for  the 
peas  had  been  cooked  in  a  huge  pot  that  she  had 
used  for  purple  dye.  Evidently  the  Biznets  had 
hesitated  to  eat  this  strangely  brilliant  vegetable 


ALPHONSINE  21 

when  it  was  done,  and  had  set  aside  the  great 
mauve  mass,  enough  for  a  week's  supply. 

Alphonsine  flung  kettle  and  all  through  the  win- 
dow, nearly  extinguishing  the  yellow  hen,  which 
leaped  aside  with  a  dismal  squawk,  and  then  re- 
turned to  fill  her  crop,  being  color  blind. 

Tony  went  outside  then,  taking  his  violin.  He 
was  sitting  pensively  on  the  roadside,  his  chin 
propped  in  his  hand,  watching  the  first  star  twin- 
kling above  the  sunset,  when  the  children  re- 
turned to  the  house. 

They  hesitated,  hearing  the  strident  monologue 
inside,  the  clatter  of  furniture  jerked  into  place, 
the  chairs  being  spanked,  the  tables  pulled  about 
by  their  ears,  and  the  dishes  knocking  together 
with  a  sound  of  cracking  skulls. 

Before  the  racket  had  ceased,  replaced  by  a  low 
murmur  of  sobbing,  the  stars  were  all  out,  and  a 
thin  moon  hanging  brightly  where  the  sunset  had 
vanished.  They  could  see  her  through  the  lighted 
window,  seated  in  a  chair  by  the  freshly  washed 
table,  her  gingham  apron  over  her  face,  her 
straight  body  swaying  back  and  forth  monoto- 
nously* Presently  she  arose,  and,  coming  to  the 
door,  called  for  Kitty.  There  was  anxiety  in  her 
voice,  as  though  death  were  about  like  a  wolf,  and, 
having  tasted  the  blood  of  one,  might  hunger  for 
more. 

"  An'  you,  Tony  Biznet,  if  you  gon  sleep  in  my 
house  to-night,  you  come  along  and  get  upstairs. 
I  don'  leave  no  door  unlok  for  you  —  you  hear 
me?" 


22  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Tony  slunk  in  with  his  fiddle,  and  the  boy  after 
him.  So  fierce  was  the  woman  in  the  doorway, 
so  hawk-like  her  tear-swollen  face,  that  Roman 
Biznet  had  a  comfortable  feeling  that  everybody 
would  be  safe  from  Antoine  in  this  place,  —  that 
carving  knives  and  white  whiskey  would  not  be 
allowed. 

He  looked  up  at  her  knowingly  and  caught  her 
eye,  whereupon  she  whacked  him ;  and  there  was 
something  restful  in  the  stern  act,  bespeaking,  as  it 
did,  law,  order,  authority. 

When  the  two  had  ascended  the  rickety  stairs 
to  the  unfinished  loft,  she  threw  after  them,  with 
high  disdain,  that  bedding  in  which  they  had  slept 
the  previous  night,  —  bolsters,  frilled  pillow  shams, 
gay  red  spread.  She  would  have  none  of  it,  mud- 
died and  rumpled  as  it  was  by  their  shiftless  con- 
tact 


CHAPTER  V 
ANTOINE  DEPARTS 

ALPHONSINE  had  a  dream-book,  with  woodcuts 
in  it.  Although  she  could  not  read,  she  under- 
stood perfectly  the  explanations  attached  to  them, 
having  learned  by  heart  from  her  mother,  a  wise 
woman,  understanding  medicine  according  to  Iro- 
quois  lore,  as  well  as  the  Black  Art  of  white  men. 

That  night,  when  she  heard  Tony  snore,  she 
went  to  a  cupboard,  where  she  kept  poisonous 
dyes  under  lock  and  key,  took  out  the  dream- 
book  from  behind  bottles  and  packages,  and  sat 
down  with  it  at  her  kitchen  table,  shaking  a  fist 
toward  the  ceiling,  above  which  her  brother-in- 
law  lay. 

"  I  '11  fin'  out,  you  Johnny  Crapaud !  I  '11  fin' 
out,  me !  Mebbe  you  get  keel  yourself !  " 

She  read  —  if  it  was  reading  —  until  the  roos- 
ters began  to  crow,  from  the  near-by  shout  of  the 
Santwire  fowl,  who,  with  Phosy's  yellow  hen,  had 
stolen  a  roost  on  the  dividing  fence,  where  they 
were  sheltered  by  a  blackened  vine,  to  the  far-off 
trumpet  call  of  the  lordly  buff-cochin  at  the  Tracy 
barn,  the  aristocrat  on  the  hill  and  the  plebeian 
of  French  Hollow  answering  each  other.  It  was 
still  dark,  but  one  could  hear  the  uneasy  stir  of 
morning,  the  impatience  for  light.  She  closed  the 


24  ROMAN  BIZNET 

book,  sighing,  and  turned  to  the  window.  The  re- 
flection of  her  own  face  in  the  dark  glass  startled 
her. 

"My  Lord!  I  fought  it  was  Phoebe!  But 
I  '11  fin'  out.  I  '11  get  you,  my  boy !  " 

With  which  mysterious  menace  and  many  up- 
ward looks,  she  went  to  her  bedroom  and  lay 
down  by  Kitty,  fast  asleep  with  her  thumb  in  her 
mouth. 

"  Oh,  you  bad  liT  gal,"  whispered  Alphonsine 
softly ;  "  you  spoil  you  pretty  liT  fingers  dat  way." 

She  pulled  out  the  thumb  and  looked  at  it  ten- 
derly. Her  eyes  were  so  blurred  that  there  seemed 
three  small  pink  digits  at  least. 

"  An'  she 's  lak  Phrebe." 

She  kissed  the  wayward  thumb,  and  then  no- 
ticed an  expression  of  discontent  on  the  sleeping 
face,  a  rigidity  about  the  elbow. 

"  She  wants  'er  thumb,"  said  Phosy,  laughing 
through  tears,  and  carefully  tucked  it  back  as 
she  had  found  it,  Kitty's  lips  closing  upon  it  with 
a  smack  of  welcome.  Then  Phosy  shut  her  eyes 
and  lay  rigid ;  though  whether  she  slept  that  night 
or  entered  into  a  trance  and  wandered  forth  in 
spirit  on  her  fierce  and  sorrowful  errand,  psycho- 
logic, telepathic  —  I  don't  know  that  naming  it 
makes  it  less  a  mystery. 

She  rose  at  her  usual  breakfast  hour,  and  her 
face,  as  she  prepared  the  food,  was  black  with  an- 
ger. She  burnt  the  fried  potatoes  to  a  crisp ;  the 
johnny-cake  was  leaden  within  and  black  without ; 
the  tea  was  strong  and  bitter  with  boiling. 


ANTOINE  DEPARTS  25 

Antoine  looked  at  his  sister-in-law  doubtfully  as 
he  sat  down  to  this  feast.  He  was  in  an  humble 
and  conciliatory  mood.  With  him  it  was  always 
a  period  of  great  peace  and  innocence,  a  short  time 
before  his  devil  awoke,  for  the  devil  is  by  nature 
intermittent,  being  constant  in  but  few  natures. 
On  this  particular  morning,  for  all  the  evil  in  his 
soul  he  might  have  been  a  Sunday-school  superin- 
tendent. He  was  thinking  what  a  pity  it  was  that 
Phosy  should  look  ill-tempered  on  this  beautiful 
morning,  and  that  he  might  chop  some  wood  for 
her  presently.  He  even  tried  to  look  pleasant  as 
he  partook  of  the  evil-tasting  breakfast. 

Roman  Biznet  seemed  to  find  nothing  wrong, 
but  ate  with  a  relish ;  then  brought  out  an  apple 
from  inside  his  shirt  to  share  with  Kitty,  and  with 
this  they  went  out  together  to  pay  their  respects  to 
the  yellow  hen. 

Tony  picked  up  his  fiddle  as  the  children  left. 
He  would  play  a  little  before  chopping  that  wood. 

Alphonsine  looked  long  and  malevolently  at  his 
unconscious  profile,  then  put  some  fresh  tea  in  a 
saucer,  on  which  she  poured  some  boiling  water, 
let  it  stand  for  an  instant,  and  solemnly  twirled 
the  dish  three  times.  Then  she  poured  off  the 
water.  Tony,  who  was  playing  some  classical  and 
intricate  thing,  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  fierce 
eyes  traveling  from  his  face  to  the  tea  leaves,  from 
the  tea  leaves  to  his  face.  She  finished  the  con- 
templation of  them,  rose  slowly  and  took  a  step 
toward  him,  but  reconsidered  and  went  to  the 


26  ROMAN  BIZNET 

cupboard,  whence  she  took  some  tinfoil.  This  she 
melted  in  a  large  iron  spoon.  Tony  finished  his 
music  as  this  ceremony  began,  and  regarded  her 
with  a  kindly  smile. 

"  Telling  your  fortune,  Phosy  ?  " 

"  Tellin'  my  fortune  —  yes." 

Tony,  being  an  educated  man,  was  not  supersti- 
tious. It  came  to  him  that  Alphonsine  was  a  re- 
markably handsome  woman,  as  she  bent  above  the 
red  glow  of  the  fire.  There  was  something  regal 
about  her  hooked  nose  and  narrow  eyes,  about  the 
full  sweeping  lines  of  her  figure.  The  stories  of 
noble  ancestry  were  easy  of  belief.  Now,  Phoebe 
had  been  a  frail  thing,  with  big  eyes,  a  small  chin, 
an  arm  nowhere  beyond  the  compass  of  a  man's 
thumb  and  finger.  Phoebe  had  loved  to  dance, 
had  laughed  or  cried  at  everything.  That  was 
what  made  the  trouble,  her  laughing  and  crying. 
Alphonsine,  now  — 

She  dropped  the  melted  lead,  with  a  swift  turn 
of  the  wrist,  into  a  basin  of  water,  carried  this  to 
the  window,  and  studied  it  carefully.  There  was 
something  portentous  and  fateful  in  her  manner. 
Tony  looked  over  his  shoulder  to  see  whether  the 
door  were  locked,  and  then  rose,  carefully  noncha- 
lant, and  sauntered  toward  it,  violin  in  hand,  —  not 
that  he  expected  any  ill  from  Alphonsine,  but  he 
was  a  cautious  man  and  did  not  feel  belligerent 
that  morning. 

Phosy  set  down  the  basin  upon  the  table.  Her 
chest  was  heaving.  One  hand  quietly  closed  about 


ANTOINE  DEPARTS  27 

the  handle  of  a  large  bread  knife.     She  looked  up, 
and  Tony  quailed. 
"  Va-t-en !  "  she  said. 

When  the  children  came  in  an  hour  later,  for 
they  had  been  to  call  on  Adlor  Santwire  and  his 
guinea  pigs,  Alphonsine  was  furiously  at  work  with 
a  kettle  of  scarlet  dye.  There  were  red  splashes 
upon  her  face,  and  her  arms  were  red  above  the 
elbows,  giving  her  the  appearance  of  one  steeped  in 
blood. 

"  Your  fader  gone  off,  Romy,"  she  said  kindly 
enough.  "  You  gon  stay  an'  be  my  li'l'  boy.  Only 
you  got  be  good  to  Kitty.  My  —  my,  'ow  you 
look  lak  you  mere !  " 

Yet,  as  has  been  said,  the  boy  was  in  every  way 
his  father's  miniature.  Perhaps,  however,  Alphon- 
sine saw  more  deeply,  and  something,  after  all, 
like  Phoebe  was  masked  behind  the  features  of 
Antoine. 

He  looked  up  into  her  face  long  and  soberly. 
He  asked  no  question,  but  as  the  two  exchanged 
look  for  look  he  knew  she  had  found  out  Antoine, 
and  she  knew  that  dreams  and  sorceries  had  not 
spoken  untruly. 

"Eh,  b'en,"  she  said.  "You  wan'  remember 
to  be  good  to  Kitty  —  else  I  '11  lick  you !  " 

And  he  promised  that  he  would  be  good. 


CHAPTER  VI 
DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME 

THERE  were  In  Cosmos  two  important  families, 
whose  houses  stood  side  by  side.  The  Heathway 
house  was  of  red  brick,  severely  square,  its 
grounds  laid  out  in  a  formal  way.  "  Walk  here. 
Smell  of  these  roses.  You  may  sit  down  on  this 
rustic  bench  and  admire  the  view,  but  please  do 
not  step  on  the  grass  if  you  want  to  get  somewhere 
else  —  you  will  find  a  cross-walk  farther  up." 

The  Tracy  house  was  vaguely  Greek  in  design, 
with  many  white  pillars  supporting  verandas  on 
three  sides.  The  grounds  were  larger  than  those 
of  the  Heathway  place,  but  had  a  less  conscien- 
tious look,  as  though  one  might  find  unexpected 
things  here  and  there,  —  some  flower  that  had 
no  gardener  for  its  sponsor;  some  litter  of  old 
leaves  in  a  fence  corner,  and  a  suggestion  of  un- 
derbrush. It  was  largely,  perhaps,  the  difference 
between  a  man's  way  of  arranging  outdoors  and 
a  woman's.  Squire  Heathway  liked  to  see  things 
trim  and  prosperous  looking,  while  Miss  Emily 
Tracy  cared  only  that  there  should  be  flowers 
enough.  The  rest  of  her  attention  she  gave  to  the 
house  inside. 

The  houses  faced  a  horizon  made  flat  by  the  St. 
Lawrence,  some  twenty  miles  away,  and  behind 


DOCTOR  WINTHKOP  AT  HOME     29 

them  were  the  Adirondacks,  at  that  time  unscarred 
by  a  railroad.  One  knew  that  the  sun  always  rose 
somewhere  among  them,  but  never  thought  of  get- 
ting through  to  anything  southward.  To  journey 
into  the  world,  one  must  go  roundabout  and  by 
way  of  Lake  Champlain. 

Tucked  behind  well-trimmed  hedges,  in  a  corner 
of  the  Heathway  place,  was  what  had  been  a  por- 
ter's lodge  in  those  days  of  ante-bellum  grandeur 
before  Squire  Heathway  had  lost  money  in  some 
Southern  venture.  Now  it  had  fallen  to  Dr.  Win- 
throp,  Squire  Heathway's  college  chum  and  of  his 
regiment,  whom  fate  had  treated  badly  in  various 
ways,  whose  fiery  and  too  ambitious  youth  lay 
dead  somewhere  on  Southern  camping-grounds, 
while  in  its  stead  he  bore  a  Promethean  liver. 
And  he  lived  alone  in  his  little  house,  "  like  some 
story-book  animal,"  as  he  told  Bessie  Heathway. 

Now  and  then  it  happens  in  a  village  that  there 
is  one  in  loco  parentis,  some  old  and  lonely  soul 
who  keeps  watch  as  from  a  high  place,  and  whose 
advice  is  of  value.  He  becomes  something  of  a 
priest  in  time ;  confessions  are  made  to  him,  and 
in  a  manner  he  can  give  absolution.  "You  are 
a  silly  child  and  have  made  a  bad  mistake,  but 
it  doesn't  matter  so  much  as  you  think.  Don't 
worry."  The  world  did  not  seem  so  difficult  when 
Dr.  Winthrop  had  said  this.  Then,  again,  he 
might  listen  to  one's  sorrows  with  an  amused  and 
ancient  smile,  and  at  the  end  concoct  some  mixture 
out  of  his  slender  stock  of  drugs.  "  Stomach,  my 
dear.  Don't  burden  your  conscience  with  what 


30  ROMAN  BIZNET 

doesn't  belong  there.  Take  this  —  a  spoonful 
after  each  meal."  Or,  if  it  were  a  serious  case,  if 
a  woman's  baby  were  dead,  or  a  man  had  failed  in 
business,  or  a  child  had  broken  its  doll  or  lost  its 
dog,  there  were  wisdom  and  comfort  in  his  silence 
and  in  the  touch  of  his  lean  yellow  hands. 

On  a  day  in  early  December,  the  short  afternoon 
darkened  by  a  soft,  blinding  fall  of  snow,  which 
came  slowly  and  lent  itself  to  snowballs  of  de- 
lightful bigness  and  hardness,  Dr.  Winthrop  lit 
his  student-lamp  with  its  green  shade  early,  for 
he  was  working  on  a  doll's  sled  for  Bessie  Heath- 
way,  and  it  must  be  done  for  Christmas.  He  was 
making  it  out  of  cigar  boxes;  he  smoked  many 
cigars,  and  excused  himself  by  the  toys  which  he 
carved  from  the  cedar  wood.  There  would  have 
been  plenty  of  time  to  finish  several,  if  a  well  man 
had  been  doing  the  work,  but  one  never  could  tell, 
having  a  liver  —  an  illness  might  come  upon  him  at 
any  time,  so  that  the  little  sled  would  be  left  in  the 
lurch.  In  his  enthusiasm  and  impatience,  he  used 
some  surgical  tools  in  its  manufacture.  For  bone 
and  wood  are  not  such  different  materials,  and 
there  were  like  to  be  no  more  battlefields.  Be- 
sides, there  was  a  young  doctor  who  did  all  that 
for  the  village  now. 

He  was  screwing  the  second  runner  in  place, 
twisting  his  smiling  mouth  as  he  twisted  the  screw- 
driver, when  there  came  a  light  knock  at  the  door, 
and  he  hustled  his  work  swiftly  out  of  sight  before 
saying  "  Come  in."  But  it  was  Bessie's  school- 
teacher, Miss  Amy  Bartlett,  not  Bessie.  She,  too, 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME  31 

was  the  daughter  of  an  old  friend,  and  had  once 
sat  on  the  doctor's  lap  and  heard  his  stories.  She 
was  a  thin,  dark  girl,  bright-eyed,  and  with  red 
spots  in  her  hollow  cheeks. 

"Do  you  know  any  gentleman  that  likes  choco- 
late cake?"  she  inquired  carelessly,  as  she  brushed 
the  snow  from  her  hat,  and  sent  it  hissing  into  the 
fireplace. 

The  doctor  put  on  his  spectacles  and  regarded 
suspiciously  a  napkin-covered  parcel  she  had  put 
on  the  table.  He  raised  the  napkin  and  smacked 
his  lips,  gathering  up  the  crumbs  that  had  broken 
off,  with  his  yellow  thumb  and  finger.  It  was  a 
custom  in  the  village  for  the  women  to  propitiate 
him  with  their  cookery  —  not  that  he  needed  pro- 
pitiation, but  it  seemed  a  graceful  way  to  open  a 
consultation  concerning  any  trouble. 

"  And  how  does  the  school  get  on,  Amy  ?  " 

"  Get  on  !  It  does  n't.  They  've  put  more 
French  young  ones  in  my  grade,  you  know,  so  of 
course  there  's  disorder  unspeakable,  and  presently 
I  shall  be  asked  to  resign,  I  suppose." 

"  You  still  have  Billy  Tracy  and  Bessie  Heath- 
way.  Don't  you  find  Bessie  a  comfort  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  muttered  Miss  Bartlett 
without  enthusiasm.  "  She  —  she  takes  as  good 
care  of  me  as  she  can,  and  if  I  make  any  mistakes 
in  judgment  or  scholarship,  comes  to  me  privately 
after  school  and  tells  me  all  about  it.  Oh,  yes, 
Bessie  is  quite  a  —  grandmother  to  me." 

Dr.  Winthrop  chuckled  over  a  small  piece  of 
cake  he  had  dug  out  with  his  finger,  and  coughed. 


32  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  must  speak  to  Bessie,"  he  said  enjoyingly. 
"  I  'm  afraid  she  does  assume  rather  too  much  of 
the  world's  burden  at  times." 

"  I  could  stand  Bessie  all  right,  but  those 
French  children  will  drive  me  to  my  grave.  Chil- 
dren are  such  brutes  —  I  'm  so  discouraged  !  " 

"  You  're  tired,  my  dear,  and  have  lost  your 
sense  of  the  proportion  of  things.  I  'm  going  to 
give  you  some  tea  —  with  a  stick  in  it  —  there 's 
nothing  like  that  to  bring  things  back  into  proper 
focus." 

There  was  a  little  brass  teakettle  on  the  hob 
and  a  turned-back  crane,  whose  chains  and  hooks 
showed  through  the  smoke.  Ostensibly  the  doc- 
tor cooked  his  own  meals  at  his  fireplace  ;  practi- 
cally he  used  kerosene  oil  and  a  spirit-lamp.  But 
the  sesthetic  feeling  that  he  could  cook  as  his 
grandmother  had  done,  if  he  chose,  was  of  value. 
He  lit  the  spirit-lamp  on  the  table  and  took  the 
kettle  from  its  false  position  on  the  hob. 

"  There  is  something  slightly  inebriating  about 
tea,  in  spite  of  the  proverb,"  he  said,  as  he  filled 
the  tea  ball,  "  particularly  if  you  put  a  stick  in 
it ; "  and  he  brought  out  a  squat  black  flask  from 
a  corner  cupboard.  "  But  slight  intoxication  is 
rather  saner,  to  my  thinking,  than  the  dumps. 
Allow  me." 

"  How  does  it  feel  to  be  an  angel,  I  wonder  ?  " 
said  Amy  Bartlett,  who  was  mopping  her  eyes  as 
she  took  the  cup  he  handed  her. 

"  And  speaking  of  angels,"  he  pursued,  placidly 
sipping  a  companion  cup,  "  which  of  the  little 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME  33 

angels  under  your  care  is  most  in  need  of  wallop- 
ing and  paregoric  ?  " 

"  Roman  B-B-Biznet,  horrid  little  monkey !  " 

"  Biznet  ?  Some  twelve  years  ago  one  heard 
that  name  frequently.  I  know  a  story  or  two  to 
fit  it.  Tell  me  more  about  this  simian  child." 

"  Ask  Bessie  Heathway  if  you  want  it  done  in 
style.  She  had  a  consultation  with  me  the  day 
after  he  entered  the  school,  inquiring  whether  it 
would  be  possible  to  have  him  sent  to  a  reform 
school.  It  developed  later  that  he  had  been  mak- 
ing faces  at  her  while  she  played  the  organ  for 
marching." 

"  Poor  Bess  !  " 

"  You  may  well  say  so.  He  has  started  in  to 
make  her  life  miserable.  Nobody  catches  him  at  it, 
but  somebody  puts  parlor  matches  where  she  steps 
on  them,  fills  her  desk  with  torn  paper,  steals  her 
slate  pencils,  puts  beetles  in  her  lunch  basket,  and 
keeps  the  whole  room  generally  in  a  turmoil.  But 
when  I  look  at  this  creature,  his  arms  are  folded, 
his  face  sanctimonious.  Billy  Tracy,  the  aristo- 
crat, has  become  his  most  intimate  friend,  and  "  — 
she  leaned  forward  with  a  sudden  bright  smile 
—  "I  am  actually  more  fond  of  this  creature  than 
of  any  of  the  rest." 

"  That 's  the  ewig  weiblicTie  of  it.  I  '11  tell 
you  something  about  him ;  at  least  about  his  an- 
cestry, which  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  for  a 
man  is  his  ancestry  to  a  surprising  extent." 

The  doctor  lit  a  new  cigar,  and  looked  medita- 
tively into  the  fireplace. 


34  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Looked  at  in  a  general  way,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  the  human  race  and  its  evolution  reminds  me  of 
live  polyps  rising  on  the  skeletons  of  dead  ones. 
The  individual  polyps  don't  vary  greatly.  They 
only  count  as  they  help  the  upward  tendency  of 
the  mass. 

'  Dost  into  dust,  and  under  dust,  to  lie.' 

That 's  the  human  polyp  under  his  posterity. 

"  When  the  coral  island  reaches  the  air  that  lies 
above  this  '  sea  of  troubles,'  there  may  be  palms 
and  things  with  wings  to  live  upon  it.  But  that 
need  not  interest  the  polyps,  —  they  as  a  race  will 
have  ceased  to  be,  yet  as  a  foundation  they  will 
be  secure  enough  for  that  life  of  the  air. 

"  To  the  individual,  heredity  is  a  very  different 
thing.  It  is  —  but  we  all  know  what  heredity  is 
to  the  individual.  A  man  is  his  father,  his  grand- 
father, or  his  great-grandfather,  as  much  as  if  the 
ancestor  were  reincarnated  in  him.  Maybe  he  is. 

—  To  come  down  to  the  Biznets. 

"  There  was  a  man  once  who  presumably  had  a 
right  to  the  name.  There  was  another  Biznet  who 
should  have  been  called  something  else.  That  was 
fifty  years  ago,  about. 

"  Biznet  Number  One  was  an  honest  Frenchman 

—  that  is,  as  Frenchmen  go  ;  but  my  father  used 
to  say  that  all  honest  Frenchmen  had  wool  grow- 
ing in  the  palms  of  their  hands.     This  man,  at 
least,  was  plain  Canuck,  and  a  woodman.     He  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  your  little  Biznet, 
except  in  naming  him. 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME     35 

"  Fifty  years  ago  this  was  pretty  wild  country  — 
woods  all  about,  hunters,  Injuns  that  did  n't  stay 
in  St.  Regis,  catamounts,  bears,  deer.  If  a  man 
anywhere  in  the  world  had  done  something  to 
make  the  world  hot  under  the  collar,  and  if  he  was 
the  sort  of  man  who  could  stand  solitude  at  all,  he 
could  hardly  do  better  than  to  come  up  here  in  the 
woods  somewhere  and  play  hermit.  That  was  fifty 
years  ago. 

"  One  day  in  winter,  my  father  said,  one  of 
those  crusty,  glare-white,  blue  days  that  make  one 
blind,  a  big  fair  man  hove  into  Cosmos  Tavern  — 
where  the  hotel  now  stands  —  and  asked  for  beer. 
There  was  n't  any ;  nothing  but  cider  brandy, 
whiskey  blanc,  plain  hard  cider,  and  Old  Tom  gin. 
He  cursed  the  country  for  it  in  some  language  the 
Canuck  and  Irishmen  did  n't  understand,  and 
ended  by  filling  up  on  cider  brandy,  whiskey  blanc, 
and  the  rest,  until  he  tumbled  down  behind  the 
stove,  where  they  let  him  lie,  because,  as  I  have 
said,  he  was  a  big  man,  and  not  good-natured. 

"  He  paid  well,  however,  and  hung  about  there 
for  a  few  days,  grumbling  monstrous  words  in  his 
throat.  He  would  go  to  the  door  and  look  off  at 
the  mountains,  and  then  down  the  road,  then 
come  in  to  the  fire  and  sulk.  Old  Grandpa  Conto 
began  to  get  tired  of  him,  in  spite  of  his  being 
good  pay. 

"  Then  one  day  the  Biznet  that  I  spoke  of  came 
in  and  proceeded  to  get  full,  having  just  sold  a 
load  of  wood  to  my  father.  '  Hola !  mon  vieux 
—  w'at  's  your  name  —  votre  sante ! '  says  he, 


36  ROMAN  BIZNET 

waiting  for  the  big  fellow's  name  before  emptying 
his  glass. 

"  '  Ei,  was  ?    Meine  name  —    Vat 's  yours  ? ' 

"'Antoine  Biznet.' 

"*  Ja  wohl.  Ich  auch.  I  am  called  Antoine 
Biznet.  Ve  are  tvins ! ' 

"  No  one  dared  to  contradict  him,  and  Antoine 
Biznet  he  remained  to  the  end  of  the  chapter, 
though  once,  tradition  says,  he  spoke  of  himself, 
being  very  drunk,  by  some  other  name,  but  nobody 
that  heard  could  remember  anything  about  it,  ex- 
cept that  it  began  with  '  Von.' 

"  Now,  this  big  German  had  a  violin  with  him. 
Once,  while  he  was  drunk,  young  Conto  sneaked  it 
away  from  him  and  started  to  play  *  Money  Musk,' 
some  French  girls  having  come  in  for  the  evening, 
but  he  had  got  about  halfway  tuned  when  there 
was  a  roar  from  behind  the  stove,  where  they  had 
thrown  buffalo  robes  over  the  German  when  the 
girls  came  in,  —  for  he  was  n't  pretty  when  he  got 
filled  up  with  whiskey  blanc,  —  and  he  came  at 
them  —  bang ! 

"  My  father  sewed  up  what  was  left  of  young 
Conto.  Dutchie  Biznet  lit  out  and  was  n't  heard 
of  any  more  until  spring. 

"  Then  there  came  the  story  of  a  ghost  some- 
where up  on  Owl's  Head.  There  was  a  light,  and 
smoke,  and  these  might  have  been  human  enough, 
but  for  a  wild  sort  of  whine  the  trappers  heard  — 
like  a  catamount  in  trouble,  only  pleasanter,  was 
the  way  Mike  Santwire  put  it.  —  You  've  got  a 
descendant  of  Mike's  in  your  school,  by  the  way. 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME     37 

The  family  was  becoming  Irish  at  that  time,  but  is 
French  again  now.  Your  boy's  name  is  Adlor, 
but  his  hair  is  curly.  I  caught  him  stealing  the 
Tracy  apples  once. 

"Mike  Santwire  said  it  was  a  banshee — said 
somebody  had  been  frozen  to  death  up  there  and 
wanted  to  be  buried,  but  nobody  seemed  to  care 
about  finding  out. 

"  The  spring  came  on,  and  it  became  known, 
gradually,  that  it  was  Dutchie  Biznet  up  there 
with  his  fiddle.  He  had  lived  on  game,  and  with- 
out firewater,  ever  since  leaving  the  tavern  in  that 
huffy  manner. 

"  He  had  built  him  a  queer  little  cabin,  so 
hidden  in  rocks,  and  through  the  winter  so  heaped 
with  snow,  that  he  was  like  some  hibernating  ani- 
mal. Toward  spring  he  came  to  the  tavern  and 
got  sociably  full  again. 

"  Now,  as  I  said  when  I  began  this  yarn,  there 
were  Injuns  in  those  days,  and  of  rather  better 
sort  than  most  you  will  find  in  St.  Regis  now. 
And  they  got  drunk,  and  made  life  unpleasant  for 
their  women  folk,  just  like  white  anthropoids. 
There  was  old  Powasket,  who  was  falsely  called 
chief,  and  wore  a  dirty  blanket,  and,  I  believe, 
stuck  dirty  feathers  in  his  hair,  though  this  may 
be  an  anachronism.  Perhaps  he  was  given  to  plug 
hats. 

"  And  Powasket  had  a  daughter,  same  as  Shy- 
lock.  I  suppose  she  was  dirty,  too,  and  had  a 
flat,  oily  face,  and  toed  in,  and  was  unpleasant 
generally.  Tradition  says  she  was  a  beauty,  but 


38  ROMAN  BIZNET 

it  isn't  safe  to  trust  tradition  where  romance  is 
concerned.  You  say  little  Biznet  is  pretty  ?  But 
that  may  come  from  his  mother.  However  — 

"  One  day  Powasket  got  friskier  than  usual, 
with  a  carving  knife  —  stolen  from  my  father's 
kitchen,  by  the  way.  His  daughter  disappeared, 
and  they  were  talking  of  making  the  old  gentle- 
man give  an  account  of  himself,  when  this  same 
Mike  Santwire  reported  that  he  had  seen  her  hoe- 
ing a  little  patch  of  earth  near  Dutchie  Biznet's 
cabin,  Dutchie's  fiddle,  meanwhile,  playing  cata- 
mount in  sweetest  style. 

"  Well,  they  were  so  far  out  of  the  world  — 
Owl's  Head  is  only  a  bit  of  blue  from  here  —  that 
nobody  cared  much,  and  Adam  played  while  Eve 
delved  and  span,  just  about,  I  imagine,  as  if  they 
were  the  first  and  only  human  critters  on  the 
globe.  But  — 

"  It  was  n't  for  having  too  much  milk  of  hu- 
man kindness  that  Dutchie  Biznet  left  his  mother 
country,  and  there  was  n't  any  particularly  gentle 
streak  in  old  Powasket's  blood.  It  was  said  that 
there  was  some  doubt  which  was  fiddle  and  which 
was  woman  sometimes  when  they  heard  the  crying 
up  there  on  the  mountains. 

"  But  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  them  that 
summer,  except  when  Dutchie  Biznet  came  to 
town  occasionally  to  get  full.  And  the  next  win- 
ter came  on. 

"  It  was  Christmas  morning  that  Father  Reilly 
found  the  Indian  woman  frozen  in  a  drift  near  the 
mission  house.  She  was  almost  naked,  and  seemed 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  AT  HOME     39 

at  first  to  be  carrying  her  clothes  rolled  up  in  her 
arras.  And  when  Father  Reilly  undid  this  bundle, 
there  was  Biznet  the  Second,  as  snug  as  a  bug  in 
a  rug,  and  about  three  days  old. 

"  He  was  the  father  of  your  Biznet,  and  a  bad 
one.  They  brought  him  up  at  the  monastery,  and 
he  developed  a  genius  for  music.  Then  a  rich  man 
sent  him  to  McGill.  Then  he  forged,  then  he 
stole,  then  he  disappeared  for  about  twenty  years 
and  finally  turned  up  here  playing  his  fiddle  at  the 
county  fair  the  year  the  war  broke  out.  Then  he 
ran  away  with  little  Pho3be  St.  Luce,  who  had 
noble  French  blood  in  her  veins.  They  were  mar- 
ried, and  here  is  Biznet  Number  Three.  I  think 
I  should  like  to  see  this  little  Biznet  Number 
Three.  From  what  you  say  there  can't  be  much 
of  his  big  yellow-haired  grandfather  about  him." 

"  No,  little  and  black,  with  straight,  stiff  hair. 
But  what  became  of  Dutchie  Biznet  ?  " 

"Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you  that?  Why,  she'd 
chopped  his  head  open  with  the  axe  while  he  was 
sleeping.  They  wiped  the  brains  off  the  fiddle 
and  took  it  to  the  monastery  for  Biznet  the  Sec- 
ond, when  he  should  grow  up.  I  believe  it  was 
an  unusually  fine  Cremona — possibly  a  Strad. 
Tradition  and  Romance  would  make  it  a  Strad.  I 
am  conservative  myself.  — 

"  Have  another  cup  of  tea.  What  a  pity  that 
women  can't  smoke !  So  look  sharp  for  little 
Biznet  the  Third.  Don't  expect  too  much,  nor 
yet  too  little.  Too  many  cooks  spoil  the  broth, 
and  it 's  the  same  way  with  too  many  kinds  of 


40  ROMAN  BIZNET 

ancestry.  All  things  considered,  you  've  got  a 
broth  of  a  boy  to  deal  with.  But  his  mother  was 
a  sweet  little  woman.  Died  of  consumption,  did 
she  ?  Now,  I  wonder  "  — 


CHAPTER  VH 

KITTY   ENTERS  GOOD  SOCIETY 

THE  Cosmos  graded  school  was  a  barren  brick 
building,  with  sloppy  looking  doors  and  windows 
and  an  empty  belfry.  It  had  once  been  a  paro- 
chial school,  a  dear  ambition  of  Father  Labelle, 
but  lost  to  him  and  to  the  Sisters  during  the  past 
fall  by  bad  financial  management ;  some  said  by  a 
shrewd  performance  on  the  part  of  the  town  offi- 
cials. Three  class-rooms  were  on  the  lower  floor ; 
the  upper  part  was  a  large  assembly-room  with  a 
few  little  cells  adjoining,  where  the  French  Sisters 
had  slept.  In  this  large  room  the  Cosmos  children 
were  to  hold  forth  in  a  Christmas  celebration  on 
the  last  day  of  the  term ;  Miss  Amy  Bartlett  had 
the  great  event  in  charge. 

Dr.  Winthrop  had  spent  his  afternoons  for  some 
time  in  helping  Bessie  Heathway  to  write  her 
essay  on  "  Christmas  in  Merrie  England,"  and  was 
rather  proud  of  his  literary  effort. 

Roman  Biznet  and  Billy  Tracy  were  to  do  the 
dialogue  between  Scrooge  and  his  nephew.  Roman 
was  to  be  the  nephew,  shouting  shrilly,  "Merry 
Christmas,  uncle !  "  Billy  rejoining  grimly,  "  Bah ! 
Humbug ! " 

Billy  made  a  beautiful  Scrooge,  crimping  his 
pretty  plump  face  into  all  sorts  of  dreadful  wrin- 


42  ROMAN  BIZNET 

kles,  shouting  in  a  deep  voice,  but  Roman's  part 
was  no  easy  matter,  though  he  might  have  said  it 
in  French. 

When  they  went  upstairs  for  the  first  rehearsal, 
his  eyes  had  brightened  at  sight  of  the  music  and 
words  of  the  "  Adeste  Fideles,"  written  upon  the 
blackboard,  large  and  plain.  He  and  Billy  were 
waiting  at  the  back  of  the  room  while  Bessie  re- 
hearsed her  essay,  and  Roman  Biznet,  pointing  a 
thin  finger,  read  the  words  with  much  pride  to 
Billy,  who  stared  with  rather  doubtful  respect, 
wondering  if  it  might  not  be  wicked.  Then  Roman 
showed  how  it  went  when  Abbe  Thevierge  had 
showed  him  how  in  Montreal.  He  used  a  desk  as 
an  organ,  playing  with  a  rapt  expression,  his  eyes 
half  shut. 

"  Adeste  fideles,  laeti  triumphantes, 
Venite,  venite,  in  Bethlehem." 

The  boys  were  so  interested  that  they  had  not 
noticed  the  approach  of  a  square  man  wearing  side 
whiskers,  spectacles,  and  a  frock  coat. 

"  Miss  Bartlett,"  said  this  gentleman  suddenly, 
interrupting  the  imagined  chords  that  Roman  was 
bringing  about  his  ears,  —  "  Miss  Bartlett,  —  ex- 
cuse me  for  interrupting,  but  I  notice  —  ah  — 
something  remaining  on  the  board  here  —  ah  —  a 
sign  of  the  previous  occupants  which  would  as  well 
be  erased  before  we  go  any  further.  It  is  as  well 
to  get  these  notions  out  of  the  pupils'  heads  as 
soon  as  possible."  He  patted  Billy's  head  enthu- 
siastically with  his  right  hand  as  he  spoke,  and 
Roman's  patronizingly  with  his  left. 


KITTY  ENTERS  GOOD  SOCIETY  43 

Miss  Bartlett  stopped  Bessie  Heathway,  and 
came  over  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wells. 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  answered  blandly. 
"  Of  course,  I  will  erase  it  if  you  think  best.  I 
left  it  because  it  was  so  pretty,  you  know,  and 
appropriate  to  Christmas." 

"  But  the  Latin  words  "  —  Mr.  Wells  shook 
his  head.  "  You  might  erase  them  and  write  our 
words  instead,  '  Come,  all  ye  faithful !  ' : 

"  I  may  as  well  erase  it  all,  I  think,"  said  Miss 
Bartlett  quietly.  "  I  confess  I  like  the  Latin 
words  best  myself."  And  she  went  back  to  Bess 
and  Merrie  England. 

Roman  Biznet  could  not  have  explained  just 
why,  but  he  decided  that  he  liked  Miss  Amy  Bart- 
lett, and  wished  he  had  not  spent  his  last  Cana- 
dian penny  on  parlor  matches  to  scatter  about  the 
schoolroom  floor.  He  would  have  preferred  now 
to  have  bought  a  Christmas  card  for  her. 

But,  the  "  Adeste  Fideles  "  being  erased,  —  ex- 
orcised with  the  black-robed  Sisters  who  had  placed 
it  there,  —  he  found  a  new  interest  in  giving  ex- 
aggerated attention  to  Bessie  Heath  way's  essay, 
placing  a  hand  to  his  ear  and  leaning  forward  as 
if  with  agonized  suspense,  while  the  faithless  Billy 
giggled,  he  who  had  once  been  Elizabeth's  fidus 
Achates.  But  she  was  in  a  severe  and  lofty  mood, 
taking  no  notice,  and  presently  Roman  had  sor- 
rows of  his  own. 

" '  Merry  Christmas,  uncle ! ' ' 

"  *  Bah !  Humbug ! '  "  said  Billy,  with  a  careless 
glibness  born  of  many  repetitions. 


44  KOMAN  BIZNET 

" '  Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle !  You  don't  mean 
that,  I  'm  sure ! ' :  But  there  was  lifeless  uncer- 
tainty in  his  tone. 

"  You  must  study  it,  Roman,"  said  Miss  Bartlett 
severely,  when  they  had  stumbled  through  it. 

"  Bah !  Humbug !  "  said  a  sharp  voice,  as  he 
left  the  building;  a  stinging  snowball  sunk  into 
his  coat  collar,  as  the  Heathway  sleigh  disappeared 
around  the  corner,  the  peak  of  Elizabeth's  blue 
toboggan  cap  standing  out  behind  like  a  pennant ; 
and  he  put  his  thumb  to  his  nose,  but  dispiritedly, 
for  Bess  was  far  away,  with  jingling  bells  about 
her,  caring  nothing  for  a  small  French  boy  who 
dreaded  the  morrow. 

The  hall  was  brave  with  greens  and  flags  —  an 
arrangement  somewhat  messy,  if  one  were  critical, 
but  enthusiastic  at  least,  and  patriotic,  whatever 
that  may  mean  in  graded-school  parlance.  The 
town  turned  out  in  force,  particularly  the  mothers, 
who  brought  the  baby  brothers  and  sisters  to  gaze, 
round-eyed,  upon  the  actual  grandeur  of  which  they 
had  heard  so  much.  Dr.  Winthrop  listened  with 
satisfaction  to  Bessie  Heathway's  rendering  of  his 
ideas;  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wells  beamed  upon  Benny 
Wells,  who  declaimed  "  Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in 
the  new,"  and  upon  little  Gladys  Wells,  who 
drooped  her  black  eyelashes  demurely  as  she  piped 
a  Christmas  carol.  Gladys  was  the  "  Beautiful 
Child  "  of  the  town,  but  Bessie  Heathway  called 
her  a  "  nasty  little  thing."  Madam  Tracy  and 
her  daughter,  Miss  Emily,  were  there  in  honor  of 


KITTY  ENTERS  GOOD  SOCIETY  45 

Billy's  Scrooge,  and  the  Heathways  sat  near  them 
—  Dr.  Winthrop  between  —  as  was  a  right  and 
proper  arrangement  of  neighbors.  Madam  was 
very  little  and  old,  her  head  shaking  behind  her 
black  lace  veil  as  though  in  eternal  negation  of 
the  things  of  this  world.  She  ate  peppermints^ 
and  heard  nothing,  but  Billy  was  the  only  man- 
child  among  her  posterity  and  she  felt  something 
of  reverence  for  him.  Miss  Emily  had  a  little  of 
this  feeling,  but  tempered  by  her  nearness  to  mod- 
ern ideas.  To  both,  the  ten-year-old  Billy  was  head 
of  the  house,  and  some  day  he  was  to  have  what- 
ever was  left  of  the  ancestral  estate. 

Miss  Emily's  face  was  long  and  ascetic.  Per- 
haps her  eyes  were  too  near  together  and  the  lines 
about  her  mouth  not  altogether  lovable,  but  she 
meant  well,  —  none  better. 

Alphonsine  wore  a  resplendent  gown  of  black 
moreen  that  looked  much  like  Mrs.  Heathway's 
silk,  and  Kitty  came,  too,  in  a  red  frock  dyed  and 
made  up  the  day  before.  She  kept  her  thumb  in 
her  mouth  all  the  while,  except  when  she  giggled 
out  loud  at  Billy's  "  Bah !  Humbug  !  "  for  she 
knew  Billy  Tracy  well,  having  made  his  acquaint- 
ance in  the  Tracy  kitchen.  Billy  had  shared 
candy  with  her,  and  his  aunt  had  given  her  his 
old  out-grown  stockings,  which  were  red  and  very 
beautiful,  when  the  feet  were  made  smaller  and  a 
patch  put  on  the  knee.  So  she  knew  that  it  was 
only  play  when  Billy  made  up  faces  and  said, 
"Bah!  Humbug!" 

But   what  was  the  matter  with   Homy?     He 


46  ROMAN  BIZNET 

mumbled  and  stared  and  turned  white.  Suddenly 
he  put  his  thumb  in  his  mouth,  just  the  way  she 
had  hers,  and  there  was  a  silence. 

"  I  have  always  regarded  Christmas  time,  apart 
from  the  reverence,"  —  said  a  disturbed  voice 
which  was  not  Roman  Biznet's ;  but  he  shook  his 
head  and  kept  his  thumb  in  his  mouth,  and  pre- 
sently the  two  turned  and  came  down  from  the 
platform,  ingloriously.  Alphonsine  looked  fierce 
and  said  something  under  her  breath.  Dr.  Win- 
throp  watched  the  boy  with  some  curiosity.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  him,  and  Amy 
Bartlett's  description  had  been  interesting.  The 
round  black  head  beside  the  round  yellow  one,  as 
Roman  and  Billy  sat  together  in  the  front  row, 
seemed  of  good  outline,  and  was  held  up  stiff  and 
proud,  as  though  its  owner  did  not  care  partic- 
ularly about  the  recent  embarrassment.  Bessie 
Heathway,  who  was  sitting  in  front  of  the  two, 
presently  turned  around  with  a  wrathful  face, 
showing  that  something  in  the  way  of  pin-stick- 
ing and  hair-pulling  was  going  on ;  and  the  doc- 
tor, who  had  sympathized  keenly  with  the  boy's 
failure,  felt  a  warming  toward  mischief  so  quick 
in  recovery,  an  egoism  that  took  itself  so  lightly. 

Billy  was  to  have  a  tree  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  a 
party  of  the  dozen  or  so  children  of  the  town  who 
were  found  worthy  to  associate  with  him.  These 
were  not,  by  any  means,  the  mates  he  chose  at 
school  for  himself.  Roman  Biznet  was  not  among 
them,  for  instance,  though  Alphonsine  came  to 


KITTY  ENTERS  GOOD  SOCIETY  47 

help  Louise  in  the  kitchen,  and  Kitty  sat  behind 
the  range  and  pulled  Susan's  tail,  sharing  with 
her  the  lickings  of  the  dishes  in  which  maple 
sugar  was  boiled  for  the  candy  pull.  The  bub- 
bling noise  of  a  roomful  of  children  laughing  and 
talking  came  to  her  there,  and  when  the  piano 
played  for  Musical  Chairs  or  the  Virginia  Reel,  she 
kept  time  with  her  hands  and  feet,  softly,  jouncing 
Susan  up  and  down  until  she  got  scratched.  The 
door  opened,  just  as  Billy  was  leading  Gladys 
Wells,  with  bewildering  grace,  down  a  fairy  lane 
of  children,  all  clapping  their  hands  rhythmically, 
and  Billy  caught  a  gleam  of  phosphorescent  black 
eyes  peering  at  him  as  from  across  a  gulf.  Billy 
was  always  something  of  a  fairy  prince,  a  King 
Cophetua.  He  nodded  and  waved  his  hand  at 
Kitty,  who  sucked  both  thumbs  harder  than  ever 
and  drooped  her  eyes  behind  her  bang ;  but  when 
the  dance  was  over,  he  rushed  out,  resplendent  in 
blue  velvet  suit  and  lace  ruffles,  and  bore  her  back 
with  him  before  Alphonsine  and  Louise  could 
exclaim.  She  looked  very  tiny  and  conspicuous 
in  her  red  gown,  as  she  stood,  demure  and  blink- 
ing, among  fluffy  white  dresses  and  perky  sash 
bows. 

"What  child  is  that?"  asked  the  terrible  little 
old  lady  who  sat  in  the  chimney  corner  and  ate 
peppermints.  Her  voice  was  very  deep,  and  Kit- 
ty's mouth  corners  quivered  as  she  clung  to  Billy's 
hand.  Miss  Emily  Tracy  explained,  deprecatingly, 
and  Dr.  Winthrop  looked  stern,  but  not  at  Kitty. 
Billy  led  her  to  him  with  a  troubled  face. 


48  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  think  it 's  mean !  She  was  out  there  just 
playing  with  Susan,  and  Aunt  Em  did  n't  let  me 
know  !  And  it  's  Christmas,  —  and  —  Gladys 
Wells,  you  keep  quiet !  Her  hair  is  twice  as  long 
as  yours." 

Bessie  Heathway,  scowling  under  a  mop  of  light 
hair  and  blue  ribbons,  bent  down  and  looked  at 
her  long  and  earnestly.  "  You  Homy  Biznet's 
cousin  ?  " 

Kitty  nodded  and  swallowed  a  lump.  She  won- 
dered if  they  would  have  greeted  her  differently  if 
her  dress  had  been  white  like  theirs,  instead  of 
red  —  a  mist  wavered  about  her  and  she  burrowed 
her  head  under  Billy's  blue  velvet  arm,  which 
smelt  sweet  and  was  soft. 

"  What  a  pretty  dress  you  have  on !  I  wish 
mine  was  that  color,"  said  Bessie  Heathway. 
Somebody  else  tittered,  and  Billy  said  :  "  You  be 
still,  Gladys  Wells." 

"  You  look  like  Roman  Biznet,  but  I  think 
you  're  a  nice  little  girl,"  pursued  Bessie ;  and 
then,  with  a  plaintive  sigh,  "  I  wish  you  were  my 
little  sister." 

Kitty  gathered  courage  once  more.  All  this 
had  not  a  condemnatory  sound,  and  Billy  was 
holding  her  hand  very  tight.  She  peered  out  of 
her  blue  velvet  refuge  and  smiled  at  Bessie  Heath- 
way,  then  past  her  at  Doctor  Winthrop,  who  gath- 
ered her  into  his  lap,  where  she  sat  enthroned  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening,  though  the  old  lady  shook 
her  head  in  continual  negation  until  she  fell  asleep 
and  was  helped  off  to  bed  by  Louise.  Miss  Tracy, 


KITTY  ENTERS  GOOD  SOCIETY  49 

however,  murmured  something  about  "  Christmas 
Eve,"  and  looked  at  Dr.  Winthrop  with  a  saintly 
smile,  which  he  returned  with  a  grave,  searching 
glance,  then  looked  from  her  to  Kitty  and  the 
other  children  and  Bessie,  thinking,  as  one  must 
who  is  old,  about  the  quick  passage  of  time  and 
its  little  consequence,  and  that  it  was  hard  to 
fancy  these  young  heads  grown  gray  like  his  own. 

Bessie  Heathway  came  up  to  him  with  a  confi- 
dential idea,  one  with  which  he  was  familiar,  for 
no  Hindoo  wife  prays  more  earnestly  for  a  son 
than  did  Bessie  for  a  little  sister.  "  Her  mother  's 
poor,  is  n't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  think  she  might  give  her  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  not,  Bessie.  Good  mothers,  like 
Kitty's,  don't  give  away  their  little  girls."  Kitty 
giggled.  She  could  understand  jokes  of  this  na- 
ture. 

Bessie  looked  wistful,  then  brightened,  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear.  He  nodded  emphatically,  and 
she  sped  away,  coming  back  with  a  waxen  creature 
in  blue  silk  and  spangles.  Its  cheeks  were  pouched 
as  if  with  mumps,  its  eyebrows  of  a  supercilious 
expression. 

"  You  were  n't  here  when  the  things  were  taken 
off  the  tree,"  she  said  ;  "  this  is  your  doll." 

"That  is  very  sweet  and  thoughtful  of  you, 
Bessie,"  said  Miss  Tracy ;  "  you  shall  have  an- 
other." 

But  Bessie  scowled  at  the  toe  of  her  slipper. 
She  did  not  like  to  be  told  she  was  good.  Kitty 


50  ROMAN  BIZNET 

accepted  the  doll  without  question,  as  one  takes 
celestial  gifts,  not  reasoning  whence  or  why.  Bes- 
sie said  it  was  hers,  and  that  was  enough.  And 
Alphonsine,  peering  anxiously  through  a  crack  in 
the  door,  turned  away  with  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 
She  felt,  somehow,  that  Kitty  had  come  to  her 
own. 


CHAPTER 

A  MARCH  MORNING 

SPRING  in  Cosmos  is  not  like  spring  elsewhere. 
This  must  be  so,  for  if  one  has  been  a  child  in 
Cosmos  and  felt  the  rush  of  young  blood  at  the 
time  when  the  sap  of  the  trees  feels  the  same  im- 
pulse, one  understands,  by  contrast,  how  nerveless 
is  the  spring  of  other  parts  of  the  world,  and  its 
homesickness. 

March  is  always  a  lion  in  Cosmos.  It  comes 
with  great  trampling  and  roaring  of  wind  and 
water.  It  is  not  sickly  and  muggy,  as  it  is  a  few 
degrees  south.  To  be  sure,  it  sweeps  away  the 
old  and  the  feeble,  but  so  great  and  god-like  is  that 
warm  wind,  that  I  do  not  see  why  they  should 
mind  it  any  more  than  do  those  few  dead  leaves 
that  cling  to  trees  all  winter  and  only  drop  when 
young  sap,  and  pushing  buds,  and  the  March  wind 
dislodge  them. 

Madam  Tracy  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  very 
much  when  it  took  her  away,  about  three  o'clock, 
one  gusty  morning.  She  had  been  a  rather  literary 
soul,  doting  on  Tennyson,  though  eighty-five  and 
past  the  years  for  romance.  Her  daughter  slept, 
and  only  Dr.  Winthrop  sat,  wakeful,  by  the  win- 
dow, watching  the  hurry  of  black  clouds,  listening 
to  the  rustle  of  water  as  brown  patches  of  earth 


62  ROMAN  BIZNET 

grew  larger  and  the  snow  dwindled  from  ice-floes 
to  spread-out  sheets  —  to  pocket  handkerchiefs. 

Suddenly  Madam  Tracy  sat  up,  her  white  hair 
scanty  and  disheveled,  her  eyes  bright  and  deep 
in  the  sickly  glimmer  of  the  night  lamp.  As  the 
doctor  bent  over  her,  she  quoted,  with  a  strange 
air  of  eagerness  and  mystery :  — 

"  And  in  the  wild  March  morning,  I  heard  them  call  my  soul !  " 

She  had  been  the  kind  of  person  of  whom  it  is 
said :  "  She  looks  as  if  she  would  dry  up  and  blow 
away."  And  so  it  was. 

That  was  the  passing  of  a  dead  leaf.  In  an- 
other part  of  the  house,  things  were  taking  place 
which  belonged  to  the  sap  and  the  bud. 

Generally,  Billy  slept  like  a  little  pig,  but, 
owing  to  his  grandmother's  illness,  somebody  had 
been  careless  of  him  the  night  before  and  let  him 
stow  away  a  good  third  of  a  whole  mince  pie.  So, 
he  tossed  about  and  dreamed  strangely,  until  at 
last  he  woke,  feeling  quite  unhappy.  He  believed 
that  he  was  unhappy  about  his  grandmother,  and 
this  was  a  natural  mistake. 

He  went  to  the  window,  at  length.  There  would 
be  no  more  skating,  he  thought  pensively,  as  he 
heard  the  roaring  of  the  Powasket  River,  plung- 
ing its  broken  ice  about  somewhere  on  the  edge  of 
the  darkness.  There  was  something  final  and 
poetic  about  this  ending  of  the  skating  season. 
It  seemed  to  speak  of  the  change  of  all  things,  the 
ceasing  of  joy  and  youth  in  general.  His  grand- 


A  MARCH  MORNING  53 

mother  had  missed  much,  not  being  able  to  skate, 
he  thought,  and  now  they  had  given  him  to  under- 
stand she  must  even  give  up  breathing. 

AH  these  things  seemed  strange  and  sad.  He 
thought  about  them  until  he  felt  quite  frightened, 
and  heard  sounds  and  saw  sights  in  the  noisy 
morning  that  could  not  possibly  have  been  there. 

His  room  being  warm  and  his  cheeks  feverish 
with  indigestion,  he  threw  up  the  window  and 
leaned  out.  As  he  did  so,  a  faint  shadow  that  had 
been  dodging  about  among  the  leafless  shrubs 
passed  between  him  and  a  patch  of  snow.  It 
seemed  the  shape  of  a  man,  going  uprightly.  Of 
its  size  he  could  not  be  sure,  not  knowing  its  dis- 
tance, but  he  felt  that  it  was  watching  him,  it  stood 
so  still.  If  he  had  not  seen  it  take  its  place  in  front 
of  the  snowdrift,  he  would  have  concluded  that  he 
was  mistaken  ;  that  it  was  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

Then  it  disappeared  from  its  white  background 
and  crept  nearer,  while  he  strained  his  eyes  pain- 
fully. It  seemed  to  come  forward  and  look  up, 
with  the  stealthy  motion  of  a  cat.  A  small  white 
patch  moved  to  meet  it,  and  he  heard  the  familiar 
voice  of  Susan,  his  cat,  giving  friendly  greeting  to 
the  stranger.  He  hardly  knew  whether  to  con- 
sider Susan  a  traitor  or  to  accept  the  stranger  as 
harmless  upon  her  recommendation.  He  thought 
of  burglars  and  glanced  behind  him  to  make  sure 
that  his  grandfather's  sword  still  hung  above  the 
mantelpiece,  gleaming  faintly  in  the  firelight. 
When  he  looked  out  of  the  window  again,  a  ray 
of  light  from  the  floor  below  had  sifted  out  upon 


64  ROMAN  BIZNET 

the  lawn,  and  the  stranger  stood  within  it,  still 
uncertain  of  outline,  but  too  small  to  be  greatly 
feared,  if  human. 

"  I  know  you,  Biznet,  —  you  can't  scare  me. 
What  are  you  doing  to  my  cat  ?  " 

"  Come  on  out !  " 

"  Yah  !  This  is  a  pretty  time  of  night !  Is  it 
a  game  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  come  on  out !  " 

"  I  can't  —  I  —     My  grandmother 's  sick  !  " 

"  Grandmother  nawthin' !     You  're  afraid." 

"  Do  you  stump  me  ?  " 

"  Yep.     I  stump  you." 

Susan  was  languishingly  rubbing  herself  back 
and  forth  round  and  about  the  French  boy's  legs, 
her  tail  erect,  her  purr  almost  audible  to  Billy. 
She  glanced  up  at  him,  with  green  in  her  eyes,  and 
mewed  knowingly.  There  was  an  undefinable  air 
of  excitement  about  these  two,  and  a  suggestion, 
borne  out  by  the  tigerish  purr  of  running  water, 
that  there  was  something  going  on  outside  which 
one  should  not  miss.  Billy  dressed  with  fumbling 
haste  —  a  foolish  toilet,  completed  by  hanging  his 
skates  about  his  neck.  Of  course  there  could  be 
no  use  for  them,  but  they  had  stood  by  him  all 
winter.  It  was  a  habit,  like  the  wearing  of  a 
sword  upon  all  occasions  in  the  last  century.  He 
pulled  his  scarlet  "tchook"  —  a  Cosmos  corrup- 
tion of  toque  —  over  his  ears,  then  raised  it  to 
scratch  his  head,  perplexed. 

"  How  '11 1  get  down  ?  " 

"  Jump." 


A  MARCH  MORNING  55 

"  Jump  your  grandmother  —  I  mean  "  —  This 
had  been  one  of  his  favorite  oaths.  There  seemed 
something  wrong  with  it  to-night,  as  though  it 
were  profane. 

"  I  can't  jump,"  he  amended,  in  savorless  lan- 
guage. 

"  Climb  down  on  your  sheets." 

This  was  a  good  suggestion.  Boys  that  ran 
away  to  sea  nearly  always  made  ropes  of  their 
bedclothes  as  the  first  step,  escaping  from  people 
who  treated  them  cruelly.  His  heart  was  soft  and 
kind  toward  his  aunt,  his  grandmother,  and  the 
servants,  but  instantly  these  changed  and  entered 
into  the  game,  becoming  ogresses,  from  whom  es- 
cape was  the  wisest  and  noblest  course.  Cer- 
tainly, he  would  run  away  to  sea,  —  and  be  back 
for  breakfast. 

The  knots  held,  and  Billy  —  athlete  from  his 
cradle  —  made  the  descent  with  credit,  though  he 
slipped  at  the  end  on  a  small  convex  piece  of  rot- 
ten ice.  He  remembered  that  on  the  previous 
morning  —  indeed  for  half  the  winter  —  it  had 
been  a  curled  drift  that  obscured  the  dining-room 
window  below. 

At  his  arrival,  Susan,  with  a  buffoon's  pretense 
of  fear,  laid  back  her  ears  and  tore  away  on  a  gal- 
lop about  the  house,  to  return  from  the  other  side 
almost  before  they  had  missed  her. 

"Well,"  said  Billy,  in  a  business-like  way, 
"  what 's  the  game  ?  " 

The  French  boy  looked  reflectively  at  his  squdgy 
wet  shoes,  at  the  cat,  at  the  sky. 


56  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  dunno,"  he  said  finally ;  "  it 's  fun  to  be  out 
in  the  dark,  don'  you  think  ?  " 

"  But  what  do  you  do  ?  "  persisted  Billy. 

"  Well,"  in  some  scorn,  "  I  don't  skate.  Wha'  'd 
you  bring  them  things  for  ?  " 

"  D'  you  mean  you  just  walk  around  and  don't 
play  anything  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  You  can  play  anything  you  want 
to.  Only  it 's  nicer  at  night.  Don't  you  know 
nothin'  ?  " 

"I  played  running  away  to  sea  when  I  came 
down.  Let 's  play  that." 

"  All  right.     Come  on." 

This  pleased  Susan  also.  Night  was  a  time  for 
cats.  The  day  belonged  to  dogs  and  people.  But 
here  were  two  sensible  creatures  racing  off  into 
the  darkness  on  some  delightful  errand  that  a  cat 
might  understand.  She  was  young  and  vigorous. 
It  was  her  first  spring.  Born  in  the  fall,  her  kit- 
tenhood  had  been  drear  and  cold.  When  their 
progress  was  too  slow  for  her,  she  climbed  trees 
and  waited  in  security,  sometimes  finding  empty 
bird's-nests  that  made  good  sniffing. 

They  plunged  through  the  squelching  mire  of 
the  garden,  blundered  into  a  web  of  raspberry 
brambles  that  yanked  off  Billy's  cap,  then  slipped 
and  slid  down  the  long  icy  slope,  honeycombed 
with  gutters,  that  led  to  the  railroad  track  and  to 
French  Hollow  beyond. 

The  roar  of  the  Powasket  was  plainer  then,  and 
every  few  minutes,  from  far  away,  one  heard  the 
rasping  whine  of  a  log  going  through  the  sawmill. 


A  MARCH  MORNING  57 

They  reached  the  track  and  walked  along  a  rail, 
their  arms  outspread  for  balance,  Susan  tiptoeing 
in  the  rear.  They  felt  the  vibration  of  a  coming 
train,  and  suggested  to  each  other  various  ways  of 
wrecking  it  and  escaping  with  plunder,  but  it  was 
upon  them  before  they  could  lay  any  definite  plan. 
Susan  and  Billy  slipped  down  the  embankment, 
but  Roman  Biznet  danced  in  front  of  the  cow- 
catcher, until  the  face  of  the  engineer  was  gray 
with  anguish,  and  the  locomotive  shrieked  like  a 
girl  at  a  mouse. 

Then  he  rejoined  Billy,  but  Susan  had  fled  ;  she 
had  not  articled  with  them  for  the  hunting  of  such 
large  game  —  supposing  it  was  something  in  the 
way  of  rats  and  chipmunks  that  was  in  the  wind. 

"  Now,  what  you  goin'  to  go  ?  "  asked  Billy. 
There  was  some  asperity  in  his  tone.  He  would 
not  have  confessed  it,  but  there  had  been  a  gla- 
mour of  safety  and  assurance  about  the  Biznet 
boy  at  first,  which  was  now  being  replaced  by 
something  less  pleasant.  The  very  fact  that  he 
could  treat  the  huge  night  with  such  nonchalance 
had  something  terrifying  about  it,  not  to  speak  of 
a  trick  of  turning  his  head  this  way  and  that,  as 
though  he  followed  the  motions  of  creatures  invis- 
ible to  Billy.  It  was  growing  qualmishness  that 
caused  Billy  to  adopt  a  swagger. 

"  Don't  you  know  nothin'  ?  "  he  inquired,  lof- 
tily. 

"  You  see  that  thing  over  there  looks  like  a  lit- 
tle snowdrift  ?  "  said  Roman  Biznet  mysteriously. 

"Y-yes.     'T  is  a  snowdrift." 


68  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  No,  it  ain't.     Don't  you  see  its  arms  ?  " 

"  N-no ! " 

"  Don't  you  see  its  hair  ?  " 

«  N-n-no !  " 

"  Don't  you  hear  it  say  something  ?  Woo-o-o, 
like  that?" 

"  W-what  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  dunno." 

"  My  aunt  does  n't  let  me  get  my  feet  wet,"  said 
Billy,  with  sudden  dignity.  "  I  'm  going  home. 
I  don't  think  this  is  a  very  interesting  game." 

"  You  see  that  black  thing  over  in  the  pasture  ? 
Just  this  side  the  stone  wall  —  'bout  's  big  's  a 
dog?" 

"  That 's  a  bush.  You  can't  fool  me.  I  've 
picked  raspberries  there  in  summer." 

"  It 's  behind  the  bush !  " 

"What  is?" 

"  Never  mind.     You  might  be  scared." 

"  I  ain't  scared,  but  I  'm  going  home.  M-my 
aunt  does  n't  like  to  have  me  play  with  French 
boys." 

"  All  right.  My  aunt  does  n't  like  to  have  me 
play  with  Yankee  boys,  either.  You  better  run. 
It 's  comin'.  It 's  a  loup-garou !  " 

And  Billy  ran.  His  aunt  had  repeatedly  told 
him  the  loup-garou  was  a  myth.  Louise,  and 
Phosy  Conto,  who  often  visited  their  kitchen, 
thought  differently.  He  did  not  know  exactly  how 
he  reached  the  house. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  dining-room  window, 
and  he  peeped  in  before  making  the  ascent  of  his 


A  MARCH  MORNING  59 

swinging  sheets.  His  aunt  lay  upon  a  lounge ; 
Louise,  disheveled  and  sleepy-looking,  was  bathing 
her  temples.  Dr.  Winthrop  stood  by  the  bright 
wood  fire  and  poured  hot  water  into  a  glass  of 
some  liquid  that  gleamed  like  a  ruby.  The  door 
which  opened  into  the  grandmother's  room  was 
shut. 

He  climbed  up  his  knotted  sheets,  what  sound 
he  made  being  lost  in  the  universal  slatting  and 
rustling  of  branches  and  shutters,  and,  construct- 
ing a  muddy  rat's  nest  of  his  disordered  bedding, 
curled  up  to  sleep.  And  in  his  dreams  the  Biznet 
boy  led  him  into  many  adventures  and  through 
many  troubles. 


CHAPTER   IX 
THE   LORD    INDICATES   A  DUTY    FOR   MISS    TRACY 

THE  Tracy  parlors  were  large  and  dim  ;  filled 
with  things  that  had  once  been  treasures,  but  were 
become  faded  and  out  of  date,  like  the  shriveled 
petals  in  a  rose-jar.  The  carpets  were  soft,  deeply 
piled,  patterned  with  huge  roses,  that  had  been 
crimson  fifty  years  ago,  but  which  Time  had 
brought  to  brick-dust  and  gray.  The  furniture 
was  of  crimson  corded  silk,  but  Time  had  incon- 
siderately made  it  an  acrid  magenta  that  fretted 
at  the  brick-red  roses,  once  so  congenial,  —  just 
as  people,  once  matching  delightfully,  sometimes 
fade  into  a  grumpy  discord.  It  's  all  in  the 
dye.  Under  the  buttons  of  the  chairs  there  was 
still  a  gleam  of  crimson  as  evidence  of  past  splen- 
dor. 

On  the  walls,  whose  crimson  stripe  had  faded 
in  still  a  different  way,  hung  family  portraits. 
Not  post  mortem  crayons,  such  as  one  finds  in 
other  Cosmos  homes,  but  "real  oil  paintings." 
Stiff  men,  with  curly  topknots  and  bristly  shirt 
frills.  Smiling  ladies,  who  wore  their  hair  over 
their  ears,  and  always  kept  one  hand  flatly  hold- 
ing folds  of  lace  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  its 
elaborate  pattern  and  display  to  the  best  advan- 
tage remarkably  pointed  finger  tips.  They  wore 


A  DUTY  FOR  MISS  TRACY  61 

many  jewels,  too,  each  with  a  careful  high  light 
in  the  middle  to  indicate  its  brilliancy.  There 
were  suggestions  of  a  Tracy  who  had  been  to  far 
countries  —  a  curved  sword  in  a  strangely  carved, 
scabbard,  a  Japanese  lady  embroidered  in  high 
relief  upon  a  banner,  traveling  one  way  upon  im- 
possible feet  while  her  impossible  face  looked  an- 
other, a  tea-set  of  bronze  from  Benares,  to  whose 
ornament  a  lifetime  may  have  gone.  Hanging  in 
the  arched  doorway  that  led  to  the  dining-room 
was  a  wedge-shaped  piece  of  brass,  a  gong  that 
had  once  hung  in  a  Burmese  temple  and  summoned 
dark-skinned  heathen  to  prayer  with  a  high,  waver-i 
ing  voice,  ethereal,  plaintive,  of  another  world. 
Now  it  called  the  Tracy  family  to  meals. 

Between  the  tall  windows,  shaded  by  a  veranda 
roof  like  an  old-fashioned  poke  bonnet,  stood  a 
square  piano  of  antique  pattern.  One  would  have 
expected  its  voice  to  be  cracked  and  jangling,  like 
the  colors  of  the  room,  but  here  was  a  touch  of 
youth  and  harmony.  The  case  was  old,  but  the 
strings  and  action  were  new  and  good. 

It  was  sentiment,  and  not  poverty,  that  pre- 
vented Miss  Emily  Tracy  from  rejuvenating  the 
room  throughout.  She  loved  to  keep  things  as 
they  had  been  in  her  childhood ;  to  see,  in  the  pier 
glass,  that  her  own  face  faded  in  equal  ratio.  She 
was  a  contemplative,  shy  soul,  loving  those  who 
had  died  years  before  better  than  any  one  who 
lived,  —  even  Billy,  her  brother's  little  boy.  Billy's 
sister  was  still  abroad  somewhere,  with  relatives. 
Miss  Tracy  very  much  feared  that  it  was  her  duty 


62  ROMAN  BIZNET 

to  have  her  come  home  and  live  with  her  and 
Billy.  She  had  been  thinking  about  it  for  a  year 
now,  and  wondering  what  the  Lord  wanted  her  to 
do  about  it.  Miss  Tracy  always  preferred  let- 
ting the  Lord  decide  things  for  her  to  taking  the 
initiative  herself.  Women  who  have  no  man  in 
the  family  to  direct  them  are  given  to  this  pious 
habit.  And,  if  the  devil's  instruments  do  not  get 
hold  of  their  worldly  goods,  it  is  surprising  how 
well  they  get  along. 

The  truth  was  that  she  did  not  like  her  niece, 
who  had  been  a  rude,  selfish  child  the  last  time 
Miss  Tracy  had  seen  her,  some  ten  years  before. 
Miss  Tracy  always  meant  to  do  her  duty.  There 
had  been  duty  enough  and  to  spare  while  her 
mother  lived,  but  now  the  world  seemed  curiously 
vacant  and  still,  without  the  sound  of  that  queru- 
lous voice  ;  she  felt  uneasy,  as  though  this  new 
idleness  were  a  sin.  The  Lord  must  have  a  duty 
for  her  somewhere ;  she  wished  that  He  would  be 
explicit.  Must  she  send  for  Maud?  And  then 
Billy  would  give  his  allegiance  to  his  sister  in- 
stead of  to  her.  Perhaps  that  would  not  be  best 
for  Billy.  She  wished  she  knew. 

After  sending  her  nephew  to  bed,  Miss  Tracy 
was  fond  of  playing  on  her  old  piano,  particularly 
during  summer  evenings,  lit  only  by  late  sun- 
sets, or  the  later  shimmer  of  moonlight,  delicate, 
rippling  things  which  rarely  obliged  her  to  lift 
her  foot  from  the  soft  pedal.  She  had  been  taught 
well  in  her  youth.  There  was  a  tradition  that  she 
had  talent. 


A  DUTY  FOR  MISS  TRACY  63 

There  is  unrest  and  sadness  in  the  odor  of  roses 
for  all  but  those  too  young  to  understand  the 
transient  nature  of  what  is  pleasant.  On  this 
June  evening,  as  Miss  Tracy  sat  at  the  piano 
in  the  twilight,  the  odor  of  the  rose  garden  came 
to  her  through  the  open  windows,  and  her  eyes 
were  wet.  Playing  so  softly  that  she  could  still 
hear  the  long  sigh  of  the  wind  in  the  grass,  to 
her  blurred  vision  there  seemed  a  shadow  lurking 
by  a  pillar,  small  and  stealthy ;  and,  looking  more 
intently,  it  took  on  human  shape.  She  kept  on 
with  her  music  as  she  stared,  and  presently  it 
crept  nearer,  until  its  head  was  silhouetted  in  the 
window  frame. 

"  I  think  you  might  let  me  at  it,  once,"  said  a 
small,  hoarse  voice. 

"What?" 

"  I  ain't  touched  a  piano  since  we  left  Montreal. 
Abbe  Thevierge  used  to  let  me." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  I  sh'd  think  you  might  know  me  by  this  time, 
even  if  you  don't  let  Billy  bring  me  into  the 
house.  I  'm  Roman  Biznet.  Phosy  Conto  is  my 
aunt,  and  I  ain't  touched  a  piano  for  more  than  a 
year." 

"Well!" 

"  I  would  n't  hurt  it  none.  I  know  that  piece 
you  were  just  playing.  Won't  you  let  me  try  ?  " 

It  had  been  Schubert's  "  Serenade."  He  scram- 
bled over  the  window-sill  and  stood  by  the  key- 
board, looking  up  at  her.  There  was  an  in- 
describable luminosity  about  his  eyes.  She  felt 


64  ROMAN  BIZNET 

uncomfortably  that  she  was  seen  better  than  she 
could  see. 

"  If  you  will  play  softly  "  — 

The  goblin  sprang  to  the  vacated  piano  stool 
with  a  chuckle  of  delight.  He  stretched  out  his 
hands,  drew  them  back,  twisting  and  rubbing  his 
fingers,  and  gently  rippled  a  few  scales  up  and 
down  ;  then,  with  a  touch  so  light  that  some  of 
the  keys  did  not  respond,  he  whispered  over  a  part 
of  the  music  that  she  had  been  playing.  But 
this  he  abandoned  and  fell  to  trying  chords  and 
scales. 

"  'T  ain't  in  tune,"  he  said  presently. 

"  It  was  tuned  last  week,"  said  Miss  Tracy,  in 
feeble  remonstrance.  Her  accurate  ear  was  her 
pride.  He  struck  a  chord  that  jangled  slightly. 

"  I  suppose  it 's  too  damp  for  it  near  the  win- 
dow," she  admitted  reluctantly. 

"  I  've  got  a  make-believe  piano  over  to  Phosy's. 
I  marked  it  out  on  the  window-sill.  But  you  get 
tired  of  pretending  all  the  time." 

Miss  Tracy  stared  stupidly.  Since  when  had  a 
small  French  boy,  of  mongrel  ancestry,  been  dis- 
covered eating  his  heart  out  for  such  a  thing  as  a 
piano?  Since  when  had  a  creature  of  this  sort 
contained  more  soul  than  could  be  satisfied  by  a 
comb  with  paper  over  it,  or  a  mouth-organ  ?  The 
small  fingers  were  wandering  over  the  keys,  gain- 
ing firmness  with  every  touch. 

"The  Abbe  used  to  play  this  a  lot,"  he  said, 
fumbling  at  the  solemn  chords  of  Chopin's 
"  Funeral  March."  "  I  can  remember  it,  but  I 


A  DUTY  FOR  MISS  TRACY  65 

can't  play  it.  I  wish  you'd  do  it.  You  don't 
play  as  well  as  the  Abbe,  but  I  'd  like  to  hear  it 
again." 

She  played  it  for  him,  and  when  she  had  fin- 
ished looked  anxiously  at  her  listener.  She  had 
played  it  well,  and  her  dignity  began  to  reassert 
itself. 

"You  didn't  do  it  as  well  as  the  Abbe\"  he 
complained.  Then  he  squatted  down  at  her  feet, 
with  the  air  of  a  bargain-maker  ready  for  a  long 
bicker. 

"  Say,  you  lemme  play  on  your  piano  some- 
times, and  I  know  something  I  '11  do  for  you !  " 

"Well?" 

"  I  won't  steal  any  of  your  apples  when  they  're 
ripe,  and  I  '11  keep  the  other  boys  away,  too." 

"Humph!" 

"  Ain't  that  worth  something  ?  I  heard  one  of 
'em  saying  how  he  got  ten  dollars'  worth  last 
year." 

"You  did,  did  you?" 

"And  another  one  got  enough  potatoes  out  of 
the  field  next  the  track  to  last  all  winter,  just  by 
digging  round  the  roots  and  leaving  the  tops  stand- 
ing!" 

"  I  suspected  as  much." 

"  I  could  keep  'em  away  from  there,  too." 

"Indeed?     How?" 

"  Scare  'em !  They  're  easy  to  scare.  But  say 
—  would  n't  that  be  worth  while  ?  " 

"Perhaps." 

"  I  would  n't  hurt  the  piano  none.    I  'd  be  just  as 


66  ROMAN  BIZNET 

careful,  and  not  play  loud.  Billy  could  stay  in  the 
room  to  see  I  did  n't  steal  anything." 

"  Of  course  you  can  come  —  and  I  '11  give  you 
lessons  —  and  you  shall  be  a  musician,  and  — 
and  —  Oh,  run  away  home  now !  I  want  to 
think." 

He  disappeared  promptly  into  the  night,  and 
Miss  Tracy  went  to  bed  with  a  happy  and  thank- 
ful heart,  because  the  Lord  had  pointed  out  a 
duty  so  interesting. 

A  genius!  And  she  would  give  him  to  the 
world ! 


CHAPTER  X 
BESSIE  HEATHWAY'S  ANXIETIES 

A  WEEK  or  so  after  the  close  of  school,  on  a 
sultry  July  morning  which  had  withered  the  pur- 
ple and  pink  morning-glories  before  they  were 
fairly  open,  Bess  Heathway  was  rolling  a  hoop 
languidly  in  front  of  her  father's  house.  She  wore 
a  pink  starched  dress,  the  inside  seams  of  which 
scratched  her  thin  arms  and  bony  neck  until  she 
was  exceedingly  cross,  without  knowing  why. 
Her  heavy  crimped  hair  hung  hot  and  moist  about 
her  shoulders. 

Billy  Tracy  had  not  been  near  her  since  school 
closed,  although  she  could  plainly  see  him,  day 
after  day,  from  her  windows  capering  about  the 
Tracy  grounds.  Miss  Tracy  let  him  bring  that 
Biznet  boy  to  her  house.  They  were  together  all 
the  time ;  Mamma  Heathway  said  it  was  a  shame, 
and  if  she  were  Emily  Tracy  she  'd  no  more  have 
a  ragged  French  Catholic  young  one  in  the  house, 
corrupting  Billy's  morals  and  stealing  things,  than 
—  well,  than  anything.  And  who  knows  what 
ideas  he  might  give  Billy  on  religion  ?  She  won- 
dered if  Miss  Tracy  was  going  to  turn  Catholic 
herself.  She  had  been  seen  to  bow  to  Father  La- 
belle  in  broad  daylight ! 

Bessie  crossly  batted  her  hoop  about,  keeping 


68  ROMAN  BIZNET 

one  eye  toward  the  big  house  on  the  hill.  Billy 
sometimes  went  for  a  ride  on  his  pony.  It  was  a 
pretty  pony. 

The  pony  and  Billy  came  not,  but  presently  she 
saw  down  the  street,  under  the  archway  of  elms, 
another  figure,  coming  at  a  rapid  trot.  It  was 
smaller  than  Billy,  but  quite  as  well  dressed,  — 
dressed,  indeed,  so  much  like  him  that  it  might 
have  been  his  twin  brother,  —  scarlet  stockings, 
scarlet  tie,  straw  hat  with  scarlet  band.  She 
leaned  her  arms  and  chin  on  her  hoop  and  waited, 
staring  scornfully  as  this  new  boy  approached. 

"  Oh,  Romy  Biznet  !  'fore  I  'd  wear  other 
folks'  old  clo's !  Oh,  Homy  Biznet,"  she  chanted, 
in  that  singsong  which  all  children  in  the  world 
know  without  being  taught. 

He  turned  upon  her  with  a  wicked  gleam  in 
his  eyes.  She  spat  at  him,  like  a  spiteful  kitten 
at  a  puppy. 

"  You  need  n't  watch  for  Billy  to  go  by,"  he 
said,  "  him  and  me  are  goin'  fishing.  Besides, 
the  horse  is  goin'  to  be  shod.  You  might  wait  and 
see  the  horse  if  you  want." 

He  put  his  thumb  to  his  nose,  and  Bessie  went 
into  the  house,  howling.  She  was  coming  down 
with  the  measles  anyway,  and  the  world  was  a 
dreary  place,  at  best.  The  Biznet  boy  kept  on 
up  the  hill. 

Bessie  Heathway,  with  the  heaviness  of  all  the 
world's  sorrows  in  her  sobs,  could  hear  the  Tracy 
piano  banging  away  nearly  all  the  rest  of  the 
morning.  Her  head  ached.  Papa  Heathway  let 


BESSIE  HEATHWAY'S  ANXIETIES          69 

her  come  into  the  library  and  look  at  the  great 
tome  called  "  Dante's  Inferno."  She  was  almost 
forgetting  her  troubles  in  those  delightful  horrors 
of  Dore,  when  Mamma  Heathway  came  in  and 
took  it  away. 

"  The  very  idea !  To  let  the  child  have  such  a 
book,"  whereupon  Bessie  began  to  cry  again,  and 
utterly  refused  her  "St.  Nicholas,"  some  bright 
bits  of  cloth  for  dolls'  dresses,  even  the  loan  of 
her  father's  mathematical  instruments.  She  wan- 
dered tragically  out  to  the  barn,  and  crawled  to 
the  hay  chute,  pretending  that  it  was  the  pit  at 
whose  bottom  lay  Satan,  eating  up  Judas,  crunch- 
ing his  little  bones,  just  as  one  crunches  the  legs 
of  those  yellow-red  crabs  that  come  with  oysters. 
Satan  was  Pegasus,  the  squire's  old  blooded  Ara- 
bian, nuzzling  with  his  pink  nose  to  see  if  any 
oats  happened  to  have  been  mixed  with  his  hay 
by  mistake.  Bess  lay  gloomily  on  the  edge  of  this 
abyss  and  fed  him  wisps  of  fresh  hay,  pretend- 
ing that  they  were  sinners  by  the  name  of  Biznet. 
Presently,  feeling  the  need  of  a  confidant,  she  went 
over  to  Dr.  Winthrop. 

Did  you  ever  notice  what  a  queer,  nice  smell 
there  is  about  clean  children  ?  Particularly  in  a 
little  girl's  hair.  Take  one  in  your  lap  and  rest 
your  nose  gently  on  the  top  of  her  head,  taking 
care  that  she  does  n't  bump  up  like  a  guinea  pig, 
and  give  you  a  nosebleed.  It  is  partly  soap,  partly 
crimping  irons,  partly  perspiration,  and  partly  her 
own  young  deliciousness ;  but  it  is  as  real  as  the 
fragrance  of  those  maligned  flowers  which  we 


70  ROMAN  BIZNET 

claim  have  no  odor  because  our  noses  are  not  fine 
enough  to  perceive  it. 

Dr.  Winthrop  loved  to  rub  his  cheek  against 
Bessie's  head  while  she  sat  in  his  lap.  She  was 
getting  rather  long-legged  for  it  now,  and  awk- 
ward. The  little  man  was  really  too  weak  and  sick 
to  have  great,  half-grown  children  sprawling  over 
him.  He  would  not  have  allowed  a  patient  of  his 
to  be  bothered  so. 

"  But  Bessie,"  he  was  saying  in  amused  perplex- 
ity, "  I  don't  think  Homy  Biznet  is  a  bad  boy. 
You  —  you  nag  him,  my  child.  Men  critters  never 
like  to  be  nagged.  And  as  for  smoking  —  of  course 
he  ought  not  to,  if  Miss  Tracy  has  forbidden  it, 
but  between  you  and  me,  if  a  man  is  fond  of  his 
pipe  —  why  don't  you  lecture  me  about  smoking  ? 
It 's  bad  for  me." 

"  That 's  different." 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is.  I  daresay  it  is.  Will 
you  hand  me  down  that  box  of  cigars  ?  Thanks. 
Smell  'em.  Does  n't  it  make  you  wish  you  were 
a  man?  Ah!" 

Bess  always  had  the  weight  of  the  world  on  her 
shoulders,  from  the  time  before  she  could  walk 
alone,  when  she  tried  to  make  two  puppies,  eating 
scraps  from  the  same  dish,  respect  a  dividing  line 
through  its  exact  centre. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  mature  frown,  "  it 's 
Billy  I  'm  worried  about." 

The  doctor  choked  slightly  behind  his  cigar. 
"  Why,  what 's  wrong  with  Billy  ?  "  he  asked,  un- 
steadily. Bess,  who  was  leaning  against  him, 
turned  around  with  suspicion. 


BESSIE  HEATHWAY'S  ANXIETIES          71 

"  You  need  n't  laugh,"  she  said  sternly. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  I  read  yesterday," 
he  murmured,  discreetly.  "  But  what  did  you  say 
was  wrong  with  Billy  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  smoking  the  Biznet  boy's  pipe  yes- 
terday," said  poor  Bess,  and  leaned  her  head  upon 
her  hands. 

"  And  —  and  did  it  make  him  sick  ?  "  asked  the 
doctor,  sympathetically. 

"I  don't  know.  I  guess  probably.  That's 
what  comes  of  having  a  French  Catholic  young 
one  in  the  house."  She  sighed  tragically.  The 
doctor,  combing  her  long  crimped  locks  with  his 
yellow  fingers,  pondered  deeply. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  guess  I  '11  talk  to 
the  boys  a  little.  It  is  n't  very  good  for  them, 
and  that 's  the  truth.  Komy  is  n't  a  bad  fellow, 
though ;  I  would  n't  worry  about  him  and  Billy. 
Why,  my  dear,  don't  tell  anybody,  but  Romy  will 
be  a  famous  man  some  day.  Don't  offend  him 
now.  We  shall  all  be  proud  to  say  we  knew  him, 
in  a  few  years." 


CHAPTER  XI 

FAMEUSE    APPLES  —  AND   THE   LOTJP-GAROU. 

THE  Fameuse  apples  were  in  their  prime.  Now 
there  is  something  about  a  Fameuse  apple  which, 
if  one  has  ever  known  and  loved  it,  makes  all 
other  apples  meaningless  and  stale  forever.  The 
Fameuse  apple  is  cool,  even  while  it  lies  with  its 
crimson  cheek  to  the  September  sun.  It  is  juicy 
beyond  all  other  juiciness.  It  is  white  and  crisp, 
and  in  its  red  skin  there  is  romance.  If  a  tooth 
once  pierces  its  deliciousness,  no  dream  of  a  happy 
life  can  be  dreamed  that  does  not  make  a  liberal 
allowance  for  Fameuse  apples.  Therefore,  it  is 
well  to  keep  a  watchful  eye  upon  any  tree  which 
one  is  fortunate  enough  to  own.  Otherwise  the 
crop  is  prone  to  fail. 

The  potatoes  were  ready  to  dig,  but  slept  a  little 
longer,  sluggard-like,  being  very  well  off  where 
they  were.  The  corn  still  stood  bravely  in  regi- 
ments and  battalions,  though  beginning  to  look  a 
bit  seedy  and  out  at  elbows.  The  hops  were  green 
and  dusty  and  pungent,  until  you  could  n't  rest 
for  the  tantalizing  suggestion  of  Beer  to  Be. 

Roman  Biznet  considered  these  things,  as  he  set 
out  late  one  Saturday  afternoon  from  the  Tracy 
house,  carrying  a  particularly  grateful  and  melo- 
dious little  heart  in  his  bosom,  for  Miss  Tracy  had 


FAMEUSE  APPLES  73 

warmed  to  him  beyond  the  point  of  good  judg- 
ment, letting  her  golden  opinion  of  his  future 
shine  to  sultriness  upon  his  hopes.  He  bethought 
him  that  it  was  time  for  the  payment  which  he  had 
promised  for  his  tuition. 

On  the  Santwire  side  of  Phosy's  fence,  Adlor 
Santwire  and  some  bigger  boys,  supposed  to  be 
unutterably  evil  and  worldly  because  they  had  not 
been  in  school  for  a  year  or  two,  and  because  their 
changing  voices  sounded  strange  and  foreign  in 
the  twanging  French  words  which  school  children 
were  forbidden  to  use  —  Adlor  and  his  friends 
used  to  range  themselves  with  their  backs  to  this 
board  fence  and  swap  lies  and  smoke  immoral 
corn-cob  pipes,  with  tobacco  from  their  own  back 
yards,  and  plan  whatever  of  infamy  was  within  the 
compass  of  their  intellects.  At  first  Rome  joined 
them,  but  when  Miss  Tracy  made  him  stop  smok- 
ing, a  feeling  that  he  was  small  and  limited  kept 
him  to  himself.  Yet,  loving  the  smell  of  their 
pipes  and  the  pleasant  sensation  of  eavesdropping, 
he  was  fond  of  curling  up  in  the  softest  of  Kitty's 
architectural  efforts  in  the  hen's  behalf  to  pass  an 
indolent  hour  or  two  after  supper. 

He  had  filled  his  pockets  with  Fameuse  apples 
as  he  went  through  the  Tracy  orchard.  In  fact, 
habit  had  so  overcome  him  that  he  had  stuffed 
about  half  a  peck  between  his  shirt  and  himself 
before  his  sense  of  honor  asserted  itself.  Then, 
nobody  having  seen  him,  when  he  thought  of  Al- 
phonsine  and  Kitty  it  hardly  seemed  worth  while 
to  unload.  Particularly  as  he  remembered  how 


74  ROMAN  BIZNET 

fond  Miss  Tracy  was  of  him,  and  was  practically 
certain  that  she  would  have  given  them  to  him  if 
she  had  happened  to  think  of  it. 

So  he  ate  Fameuse  apples  and  watched  the  little 
stars  come  out,  and  listened  to  Adlor  and  his 
friends.  The  world  seemed  a  very  comfortable 
place.  Alphonsine,  clattering  dishes  about,  was 
singing  in  a  high  nasal  voice  ;  Kitty,  sent  to  bed, 
sat  on  the  window-sill  in  her  pink  calico  nightie, 
swinging  her  bare  feet  and  eating  her  Fameuse 
apples,  the  cores  of  which  she  threw  at  Rome  as 
fast  as  they  were  nibbled  down.  But  Rome  had 
become  too  interested  in  the  conversation  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence  to  throw  anything  back. 
His  jaws  were  motionless ;  his  eyes  were  bright 
with  attention. 

Presently  Adlor  and  his  cronies  departed,  talk- 
ing among  themselves  in  the  mumbling  way  of 
evil-doers.  Rome  still  sat,  with  his  jaws  fixed  in 
the  action  of  biting,  thinking  deeply.  Presently  he 
finished  his  bite  with  a  sharp  champ  of  satisfaction 
and  rose  stiffly,  nodding  portentously  to  himself. 

There  was  no  moon  that  night,  but  the  stars 
were  fair.  A  little  wind  whispered  ghost  stories 
to  itself,  shivering  among  the  dark  trees  at  its  own 
inventions,  making  sudden  panic  runs  of  terror 
through  the  orchard,  then  sitting  down  abruptly, 
panting,  whispering  to  itself  again,  making  ready 
for  another  burst. 

Its  fidgeting  was  disconcerting.  One  could  not 
hear  whether  a  footstep  might  not  be  sounding 


FAMEUSE  APPLES  75 

beside  one  in  the  dark,  or  if  a  creature  breathing 
stertorously,  shrank  against  a  tree  trunk  that  it 
might  not  brush  against  the  passer-by. 

But  the  darkness  was  sweet  with  apples,  and 
one  could  see  their  fair  round  bodies  against  the 
sky,  cheek  by  cheek  with  the  stars.  One  had  only 
need  to  shake  the  tree  to  bring  them  plumping  all 
about,  like  frightened  frogs  jumping  into  a  pond. 
Then,  in  the  invisible  wet  grass,  one  could  find 
them  by  touch  and  smell. 

Enter  three  long  black  figures,  stepping  softly, 
breathing  tenderly.  Only  a  cat  or  a  creature  with 
cat's  eyes  could  have  seen  them  at  all  in  that  ob- 
scurity. A  cat  would  have  perceived  that  each 
carried  an  empty  flour  sack,  that  their  black  eyes 
were  wide  and  peering. 

"  Qui  va  la  ?  "  muttered  a  startled  voice. 

"  'T  wan't  nothin'." 

"  Did  n't  you  hear  some  one  snicker  ?  " 

"Naw."   " 

Yet  to  all  three  it  seemed  that  some  light,  swift 
body  crept  side  by  side  with  them,  stopping  when 
they  stopped,  holding  its  breath,  peering  about 
tree  trunks,  taking  advantage  of  each  fresh  gust 
of  wind  to  perform  some  mysterious  and  fearful 
evolution  under  cover  of  the  trees'  rustling.  But 
the  apples  were  sweet,  and  the  boys  were  brave  as 
French  boys  go. 

Adlor  seized  a  branch  and  shook  it,  looking  over 
his  shoulder  the  while ;  his  companions  gathered 
with  skillful  rapidity,  unheeding  the  apples  that 
struck  their  heads  and  shoulders. 


76  ROMAN  BIZNET 

But,  suddenly,  all  three  stood  erect  in  frozen 
attitudes  of  fear.  It  was  four-footed.  It  had  two 
eyes  that  shone  —  shone  with  blue  and  wavering 
flames,  like  sulphur  matches  moistened  and  rubbed 
in  the  dark.  It  looked  at  them. 

"  G-g-g-good  doggie,"  said  Adlor.  A  low  growl 
answered  them,  a  growl  that  carried  with  it  the 
unspeakable  horror  of  a  human  voice.  A  human 
growl,  a  four-footed  beast,  phosphorescent  eyes. 
It  was  most  certainly  the  loup-garou,  a  beast  rarely 
seen,  but  only  too  common  ia  this  region. 

Adlor  could  only  gasp,  "  Loup-garou  !  "  Char- 
lie Orleana  sent  forth  one  howl  of  mortal  terror, 
Pete  Premo  shivered  out  a  Pater  Noster,  and  they 
ran.  They  stumbled,  they  sobbed,  they  prayed, 
and  the  Thing  came  after.  As  they  reached  the 
fence  and  were  about  to  scramble  over  it,  like  flee- 
ing cats,  Adlor  glanced  behind,  and  with  one  awful 
yell  fainted  dead  away.  The  loup-garou  was  out- 
lined in  that  instant  against  the  starlit  sky,  and 
was  seen  to  be  running  on  two  legs  like  a  man,  its 
flaming  eyes,  as  big  as  silver  dollars,  still  blazing 
where,  if  it  had  been  a  man,  its  forehead  would 
have  been.  It  was  this  awful  upright  posture,  its 
clear  outline,  and  its  Eyes  that  Adlor  saw  last  when 
he  fell.  When  he  opened  his  eyes,  blankly,  he 
was  being  pinched  and  patted  by  small  strong  fin- 
gers, and  a  rather  scared  voice  was  saying  :  "  Wake 
up,  you  old  fool,  you  Johnny  Crapaud,  you.  Don't 
you  play  your  monkey  tricks  on  me  !  " 

"  Loup-garou,"  stuttered  Adlor,  sitting  up  and 
looking  wildly  around. 


FAMEUSE  APPLES  77 

"  Loo  which  ?  There  ain't  been  no  girl  here. 
I  heard  some  hollerin'  and  seen  you  three  fellers 
runnin'  like  something  was  chasing  you.  I  stood 
by,  and  pretty  soon  'long  came  a  funny-lookin' 
dog." 

"  Loup-garou,"  said  Adlor. 

"  Naw !  It  was  ole  Heathway's  Bose.  Wat 
you  doin'  in  Miss  Tracy's  orchard,  anyway  ?  Run 
home  to  your  ma  and  ask  her  not  to  let  the 
ghostses  at  you  !  Baby !  " 

Adlor  rose  giddily  and  got  feebly  over  the  fence. 
When  Rome  saw  that  he  could  walk,  it  seemed 
such  a  pity  to  waste  good  material  prepared,  that 
he  said,  craning  as  much  of  his  face  as  possible 
through  the  pickets,  "  Maybe  it  was  a  loup- 
garou ! " 

Adlor  groaned  and  staggered  on. 

"  Maybe  Miss  Tracy  's  got  one  to  keep  thieves 
out  of  her  orchard !  " 

"  Loup-garou,"  repeated  poor  Adlor. 

"  There 's  somethin'  comin'  now !    I  hear  'em  !  " 

Adlor  broke  into  a  feeble  run.  Just  before  he 
disappeared  over  the  railroad  track,  a  dismal  shriek 
rent  the  air  —  wild,  unearthly  —  and  then  a  pier- 
cing, wailing  voice  which  reached  even  the  still 
fleeing  Pete  and  Charlie :  — 

"  Oh,  Adlor  1     Oh,  mon  vieux ! 
Adlor  Santwire,  tout  perdu !  " 

And  while  Adlor,  having  gained  the  ruddy 
kitchen,  was  having  an  hysterical  fit  at  the  feet 
of  his  scared  old  mother,  Roman  Biznet,  having 
found  a  corn-cob  pipe  lost  by  the  trio,  was  trying 


78  KOMAN  BIZNET 

vainly  to  light  it  with  some  wet  matches,  of  which 
he  had  his  pockets  full.  They  smelt  of  brimstone 
and  glowed  with  blue  flame  as  had  the  eyes  of  the 
loup-garou.  He  polished  his  forehead  with  his  coat 
sleeve,  and  it  glimmered  faintly.  His  cap  had 
been  pulled  down  over  his  brow  when  he  minis- 
tered to  the  fallen  Adlor. 

At  last  a  match,  drier  than  the  rest,  sputtered 
into  flame.  He  lit  his  pipe,  which  was  still  half 
full,  and  smoked,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes 
half  shut.  He  rose  at  last,  when  the  corn-cob  had 
nearly  followed  the  tobacco  to  ashes,  and  saun- 
tered homeward,  having  loaded  one  of  the  half-full 
bags  of  apples  on  his  shoulder.  He  would  tell 
Miss  Tracy  there  were  two  thieves  and  show  her 
the  two  bags.  There  was  no  need  to  mention  so 
small  a  matter  as  the  third  thief  and  his  bag. 

As  he  passed  the  Heathway  woods,  he  saw  a  man. 
The  man  was  smoking  and  his  pipe  lit  up  his  face. 
It  was  so  dark  that  even  Roman  Biznet's  cat-like 
eyes  would  not  have  recognized  him  if  it  had  not 
been  for  that  ruddy  glow. 

The  boy  stopped  short,  dropping  his  bag  of 
apples ;  for  an  instant  his  heart  beat  so  queerly 
that  he  feared  he  might  flop  over  as  Adlor  had 
done  at  sight  of  the  loup-garou.  The  man  was 
leaning  pensively  against  a  tree,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  At  his  feet  was  a  small,  dark  thing  that 
might  have  been  a  dog  except  that  it  was  so  still. 
He  looked  around  mildly  as  Rome  stopped,  and 
said  pleasantly :  — 

"Well,  son?" 


FAMEUSE  APPLES  79 

"  What  you  doin'  here?  "  asked  the  boy  sternly. 

Antoine  replied  with  a  shrug.  The  shrug  is  a 
gesture  which,  in  its  primitive  essence,  means 
shaking  a  burden  from  the  shoulders.  Responsi- 
bility for  his  own  actions  was  a  burden  with  which 
Antoine  Biznet  would  have  nothing  to  do.  "  How 
do  I  know  ?  " 

Roman  Biznet  cursed  his  father  profusely,  both 
in  French  and  English.  Antoine  listened  humbly, 
but  tipped  a  sly  wink  of  parental  pride  to  the  stars. 

"An'  now  you're  comin'  to  Phosy  again,  and 
what  do  you  think  she  '11  do  to  you  ?  " 

Antoine  shrugged  again.  Responsibility  for 
other  people's  actions  was  even  less  to  his  taste 
than  responsibility  for  his  own.  But  this  small 
tempest  of  a  son  seemed  to  need  pacifying. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  going  to  stop  here,"  he  said  sooth- 
ingly, and  picked  up  the  violin  case.  "  Come  on 
into  the  woods  a  bit.  I'm  going  to  play." 

He  led  the  way  through  the  dense,  crisp  dark- 
ness of  the  woods  to  where  a  lively  little  brook 
was  churning  away,  Undine  fashion,  throwing  out 
gleams  of  white  foam  from  its  obscurity.  If  the 
eyes  of  the  two  had  not  been  rarely  good,  they 
must  have  broken  their  necks  a  dozen  times  in 
tripping  over  fallen  logs,  or  plunging  into  miry 
muck  beds.  One  would  have  thought  it  a  terrible 
place  for  the  violin  to  take  cold  in  her  brown 
throat.  But  if  Antoine  had  the  whim  to  play  in 
a  damp  wood  by  a  splashing  stream,  she  must 
serve  him  as  he  liked,  whatever  befell  glue  or  cat- 
gut. 


80  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  'm  taking  lessons  now,"  Rome  confided  dur- 
ing a  lull. 

Antoine  peered  sideways  at  him,  and  nodded 
sharply.  "  Violin  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Piano." 

Antoine  made  a  face  and  shrugged.  "  Bah !  A 
piano  is  a  horse  that  goes  trot,  trot,  trot,  as  his 
master  wills.  A  violin  is  a  woman  that  can  be 
made  to  cry.  Piano  —  turn  —  turn  —  turn  —  tiddle 
diddle  !  "  The  violin  shrieked  with  derisive  laugh- 
ter. Rome  hung  his  head. 

"  Well,"  he  said  sadly,  "  piano  is  all  Miss  Tracy 
knows.  It 's  better  'n  nothin',  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  oui." 

Antoine  played  half  the  night,  and  when  he  had 
finished  was  so  restored  to  his  own  self-esteem  and 
had  so  plunged  his  son  into  nonentity  that  he  sent 
the  lad  home  with  a  vainglorious  box  on  the  ear, 
which  Rome  accepted  without  protest,  stumbling 
home  dumbly,  his  ears  ringing  with  many  sounds. 

Phosy  was  still  up  with  some  promised  work, 
steeped  in  red  dye  to  her  elbows,  wet  red  draperies 
hanging  throughout  the  kitchen.  She  was  tired 
and  fierce. 

"  My  —  my !  You  one  bad  boy  !  Were  you 
been  ?  You  mighty  lucky  the  loup-garou  ain'  got 
you  !  Adlor  Santwire  seen  one.  You  get  to  bed, 
toute  suite ! " 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  UNNECESSARY  " 

THE  next  Monday  was  the  first  day  of  school. 
Miss  Kitty  Conto  was  to  go  to  school  for  the  first 
time.  She  was  to  enter  the  Blackboard  Class 
and  be  the  littlest  one  in  a  shrill  row  that  lined  up 
several  times  a  day  to  consider  such  cabalistic 
propositions  as  — 

I  have  a  cat.  1  +  1  =  2 

I  have  a  man.  1  +  2  =  3 

I  have  a  dog.  1  +  3  =  4 

She  was  to  balk  at  the  very  first  statement,  re- 
fusing, even  for  the  sake  of  argument,  to  assume 
that  she  had  a  cat,  confiding  to  the  hilarious  school 
that  she  "hadn't  nothin'  but  an  ole  hen."  She 
was  to  be  suppressed  and  to  weep,  but  at  present 
she  had  no  foretaste  of  these  sorrows.  Even  being 
stood  in  a  corner  —  a  ceremony  that  Rome  de- 
scribed menacingly  at  great  length,  once  in  Eng- 
lish, once  in  French  —  savored  of  joy  and  romance 
to  her  heated  imagination.  It  is  always  so  when 
one  starts  out  in  life.  Whatever  does  become  of 
that  rainbow  halo,  I  wonder  ? 

Alphonsine  was  even  more  excited  than  Kitty. 
It  was  in  some  ways  the  greatest  event  of  her 
own  life.  She  clattered  about  with  pins,  dye-pots, 


82  ROMAN  BIZNET 

fried  pork  and  onions,  all  at  once.  The  milk 
pitcher  had  been  used  previously  in  mixing  a  blue 
dye,  and  enough  had  settled  in  the  cracks  of  the 
glazing  to  discolor  many  successive  quarts  of  milk, 
though  the  dose  of  aniline  was  practically  so  small 
as  to  be  innocuous.  Kitty's  bread  and  milk  had  a 
brilliancy  of  color  which  she  found  extremely 
pleasing. 

While  she  ate,  Alphonsine  stood  behind  her 
chair,  braiding  her  hair  in  two  slim  braids,  which 
would  have  been  quite  thick  but  for  the  enormous 
bang,  starting  halfway  back  on  her  crown  and 
falling  roughly  down  in  her  eyes. 

Alphonsine  took  this  opportunity  to  deliver  a 
long,  comprehensive  and  emphatic  lecture  on  the 
behavior  to  be  expected  from  a  little  girl  whose 
ancestors  were  "  Paris  French "  and  who  was 
wearing  for  the  first  time  a  beautiful  new  red 
gown,  red  stockings,  and  black  ankle-ties;  also 
red  ribbons  in  her  hair. 

"Always  say  'Yes,  ma'am'  and  'No,  ma'am.' 
Keep  your  arms  folded  and  your  toes  turned  out. 
Don'  let  'em  tink  you  're  one  liT  Irish  gal.  Tell 
'em  your  grandpap  was  Paris  French,  but  don' 
say  it  right  off  firs'  ting.  Sit  nice  an'  quiet  till 
some  nice  liT  gals  ask  you  to  play  wid  'em.  Don' 
play  wid  no  common  liT  washwoman's  gals." 

"You  was  a  washwoman  once,"  piped  Kitty, 
her  voice  sounding  hollow  within  her  bowl  of 
bread  and  milk.  There  was  a  last  pale  blue 
crumb  for  which  her  tongue  was  angling.  Al- 
phonsine smacked  her. 


« UNNECESSARY"  83 

"  An'  you,  Roman,  you  take  care  of  Kitty  now, 
w'at  I  tole  you  !  " 

As  the  two  trudged  off,  apparently  none  the 
worse  for  blue  interiors,  Rome  looked  back  and 
saw  Alphonsine  standing  in  the  doorway,  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hands.  The  sun  distorted  her 
face  curiously,  as  if  with  pain  or  fear. 

Having  deposited  Kitty  in  the  primary  depart- 
ment, he  promptly  sought  his  teacher  and  informed 
her,  in  the  pained  tone  of  virtue  common  to  liars, 
that  his  aunt  wanted  him  excused  for  that  day  to 
help  her.  The  teacher  was  new  and  unsuspicious. 
She  even  looked  sympathetic  as  she  gave  permis- 
sion, and  he  betook  himself  quietly  to  the  autumn 
woods,  partly  to  get  in  another  day  of  vacation, 
partly  on  business  of  his  own,  which  was  to  find 
out  whether  Antoine  had  gone,  as  he  had  promised. 

He  found  the  spot  where  Tony  had  sat  and 
played  to  him  on  the  Saturday  night  previous ;  it 
was  marked  by  ashes  from  his  father's  pipe  and 
an  inch  or  two  of  discarded  catgut.  Farther  on, 
chicken  feathers  and  corn-cobs,  scattered  about 
a  blackened  cairn  of  stones,  reminded  him  of  the 
trail  of  their  exodus  from  Canada  the  year  be- 
fore. 

It  had  been  pleasant,  on  the  whole ;  that  is,  not 
pleasant,  exactly,  with  that  memory  of  Phosbe  in 
her  shallow  grave  and  the  feeling  that  she  might 
burrow  her  way  out  and  come  after  them  with 
awful  swiftness,  dead  leaves  and  black  earth  mixed 
with  her  hair  and  fallen  in  her  eyes ;  but  aside 
from  that,  there  was  always  a  tang  of  sweetness 


84  ROMAN  BIZNET 

about  the  memory  of  that  journey  as  long  as  he 
lived.  And  did  n't  he  know  just  how  good  those 
chickens  must  have  tasted  as  Antoine  cooked 
them?  He  hoped  it  might  have  been  the  Heath- 
way  roost  that  had  suffered,  but,  on  considering 
the  feathers,  found  they  matched  the  Tracy  buff 
cochins,  and  was  sorry. 

Prowling  along  the  edges  of  the  stream,  poking 
his  fingers  into  the  doorways  of  moles  and  chip- 
munks, teasing  spiders  to  the  pitch  of  murder,  un- 
raveling the  mechanism  of  empty  birds'  nests,  he 
began  to  feel  that  eyes  were  watching  him  some- 
where from  within  a  prehistoric  forest  of  frost- 
nipped  brakes  the  other  side  of  the  brook. 

The  mutter  of  water  among  the  stones  lay  like 
a  fog  between  his  ears  and  all  other  sounds. 
There  might  have  been  stealthy  footsteps  and 
voices  everywhere.  So  he  sat  down,  cross-legged, 
and  matched  his  eyes  against  the  invisible  stare. 
His  face  was  as  vacant  as  that  of  a  toad  point- 
ing at  a  fly,  but  his  heart  thumped  disagreeably. 
He  wondered  if  Adlor  had  felt  like  that  when  he 
saw  the  loup-garou.  He  hoped  that  he  had. 

When  he  had  looked  for  so  long  that  the  spot 
where  his  eyes  were  focused  began  to  radiate 
little  painful  fires,  a  sudden  laugh  cut  through 
the  noise  of  the  stream;  the  brakes  shook,  and 
Antoine's  head  rose  slowly  from  their  middle.  As 
the  morning  sunlight  slanted  across  his  eyes,  little 
disks  of  rose-colored  fire  glimmered  where  the 
pupils  should  have  been  black.  He  smiled  ami- 
cably. 


"UNNECESSARY"  85 

"  Come  here,  you  devil's  brat !  " 

The  boy  perceived,  with  a  feeling  of  discour- 
agement, that  something  had  dissipated  his  father's 
dreamy,  compliant  mood ;  that  he  had  become  fero- 
ciously good-humored  and  insubordinate.  Stum- 
bling across  a  broken  brown  glass  bottle,  when  he 
had  crossed  the  stream  with  an  agile  jump  or  two, 
he  understood  the  reason. 

He  stood  before  Antoine,  his  legs  braced  to 
meet  any  attack ;  his  eyes  narrowed  to  slits.  An- 
toine took  one  of  his  son's  ears  between  his  thumb 
and  finger,  wagging  the  boy's  head  backward  and 
forward  in  a  sort  of  lazy  caress.  With  a  quick 
motion,  Rome  sunk  his  sharp  little  teeth  into  his 
father's  wrist,  crunching  until  he  tasted  blood  in 
his  mouth. 

Antoine  roared  with  laughter,  not  flinching  in 
the  least  from  the  pain. 

"  Take  your  ear,  Romy,  and  give  me  back  my 
wrist,  what's  left  of  it.  Say,  I'm  going  to  see 
Phosy.  Don't  you  think  she'll  be  glad  to  see 
me?" 

"Better  not,"  said  Rome,  grimly,  spitting  out 
his  father's  blood.  "  She  '11  do  worse  'n  that  to 
you!" 

"  Oh,"  said  Antoine,  placidly,  licking  the  small 
wound  as  a  cat  licks  its  paw,  "  I  don't  mind  a 
little  thing  like  that.  Kisses  are  a  matter  of 
taste." 

"You  better  keep  clear  of  her,"  said  Roman 
again. 

"But  why?" 


86  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  You  're  drunk,  an'  too  big  a  fool  to  know  it. 
D'  you  suppose  she 's  forgotten  about  your  killing 
Ma  by  this  time  ?  Well,  she  ain't !  " 

"  Has  not !  I  thought  you  were  going  to  school. 
Guess  you  ran  away,  did  n't  you  ?  Better  trot  back 
again.  Only  bad  boys  play  truant.  I  notice  you 
had  fried  pork  and  onions  for  breakfast.  I  '11  go 
and  see  if  Phosy  's  got  any  left." 

He  turned  away  toward  French  Hollow. 

"  She  won't  give  you  anything,  you  darned  old 
drunk  Crapaud !  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  she  will,"  replied  Antoine,  as  he 
disappeared  in  the  underbrush. 

Rome  threw  several  stones  at  the  point  where 
his  father  had  vanished,  and  with  that  action 
washed  his  hands  of  him.  For  a  little  longer  he 
wandered  aimlessly  about  the  woods,  but  his  soul 
was  disturbed;  the  trees  twisted  themselves  into 
goblin  shapes  and  made  faces  at  him  with  their 
seamy  bark,  the  wind  growled  menacingly  in  their 
tops,  the  brook  chattered  some  terrible  story  that 
he  could  not  understand ;  by  degrees  fright  pos- 
sessed him,  and  he  ran  out  of  the  woods  in  a  panic 
almost  as  disgraceful  as  that  which  had  driven 
Adlor,  Pete,  and  Charlie  from  the  orchard. 

Recess  was  just  over ;  he  reached  his  seat  at  the 
last  clang  of  the  gong.  Miss  Johnson,  the  new 
teacher,  was  organizing  the  geography  class  when 
he  tiptoed  to  his  seat,  the  room  being  in  that  buzz- 
ing, snuffling,  after-recess  silence,  when  lungs  are 
still  full  of  oxygen  and  the  air  is  restless  with  left- 
over animal  spirits. 


"UNNECESSARY"  87 

Miss  Johnson  was  a  pale,  nervous  little  crea- 
ture, a  normal-school  product,  much  inclined  to 
believe  the  best  of  her  pupils  and  of  the  rough 
world  in  general,  and  to  blame  herself  when  other 
people  went  wrong.  The  importance  of  an  ani- 
mated manner  had  been  impressed  upon  her,  and 
she  wore  a  nervous  conciliatory  smile,  which  was 
apt  to  be  overlooked  in  favor  of  a  chronic  frown. 
That  she  tried  all  sorts  of  cosmetics,  massage,  and 
what  not,  for  this  scar  of  time,  availed  her  no- 
thing. It  was  a  poor  day  that  some  one  who  had 
her  welfare  at  heart  did  not  take  her  aside  and 
lecture  her  more  or  less  sternly  on  her  expression. 

Amy  Bartlett  had  been  a  scoffer  and  a  cynic 
on  the  subject  of  any  goodness  whatever  among 
school  children,  with  the  result  that  the  good- 
natured  contempt  of  her  keen,  dark  face  had  kept 
her  little  mob  in  pretty  fair  subjection,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions. 

Miss  Johnson  smiled  doubtfully  at  Roman  Biz- 
net  as  he  tiptoed  to  his  seat  and  sat  down  meekly 
with  folded  arms. 

"  We  were  talking  about  Colorado,"  she  said,  in 
a  tone  that  admitted  the  tardy  youngster  to  equal- 
ity with  herself  and  caused  wickedness  and  egotism 
to  bubble  up  within  him. 

"  Benny  Wells,  why  do  you  think  we  should  be 
particularly  interested  in  Colorado  to-day  ?  " 

Benny  Wells,  the  minister's  son,  grew  pink  in 
the  ears  as  he  stood  up  and  said :  "  'Cause,  well, 
Miss  Bartlett 's  went  there." 

" '  Has  gone,'  Benny,  not '  has  went.'    I  wonder, 


88  ROMAN  BIZNET 

now,  if  any  one  can  tell  me  by  what  railroad  Miss 
Bartlett  went  to  Colorado.  Can  you,  Roman 
Biznet?" 

"  By  the  Central  Vermont." 

"  But  would  the  Central  Vermont  take  her  all 
the  way  ?  Bessie  Heathway,  what  can  you  tell  us 
about  it?" 

But  Bessie  Heathway  had  for  some  reason 
turned  red  and  sullen.  Her  chest  heaved  and  she 
broke  the  end  of  her  slate  pencil  in  the  ink-well, 
then  burst  out  gustily,  with  many  tears  :  "I  —  I 
—  d-don't  think  it 's  nice  to  talk  about  Miss  Bart- 
lett's  going  off  to  Denver,  w-when  we  all  know 
w-why  she  went,  and  maybe  she  '11  die  of  c-con- 
sumption,  and  never  come  back !  She  was  my 
m-most  particular  friend !  "  Bessie  rushed  from 
the  room  with  a  dismal  whoop. 

Miss  Johnson,  bewildered  and  vexed,  remem- 
bered then  that  Amy  had  solemnly  warned  her 
against  Bessie  Heathway.  She  did  the  best  thing 
possible  under  the  circumstances. 

"  Perhaps  we  would  all  feel  better  for  a  little 
music,"  she  said. 

"  Bessie  Heathway  is  the  only  one  that  can  play 
the  organ,"  said  Roman  Biznet,  with  the  air  of 
one  ready  to  stand  by  and  assist  with  valuable 
counsel. 

"  I  think  I  know  a  boy  that  plays,"  said  Miss 
Johnson,  archly. 

"  Me  ?  I  don't  play.  Bess  Heathway  would  lift 
the  hair  all  off  me !  " 

Miss  Johnson  looked  sternly  at  her  black-eyed 


"  UNNECESSARY  "  89 

counsellor.     "  Go   to   the  organ,   Roman   Biznet. 
We  will  sing  from  page  57." 

He  shrugged  his  little  shoulders  and  went,  his 
cat-like  smile  unchanging,  scuffing  his  feet.  At 
first  he  planned  to  make  the  organ  do  strange 
things  and  tangle  up  everybody  in  a  discordant, 
timeless  snare  of  sounds,  but  vanity  came  to  his 
rescue,  and  he  finally  did  as  well  as  he  knew 
how.  They  sang :  — 

"  Think  gently  of  the  erring  one, 

And  let  us  not  forget, 
However  darkly  stained  by  sin, 
He  is  our  brother  yet." 

Then  they  all  felt  better,  and  Bess  Heathway 
returned  from  the  cloak-room,  sniffing  and  red- 
nosed,  but  peaceful,  and  forgiving  Miss  Johnson 
with  a  watery  smile  as  she  reached  her  seat,  but 
baleful-eyed  when  she  saw  the  Biznet  boy's  bristle 
of  black  hair  above  the  organ. 

At  noon,  Rome  and  Kitty  sat  under  the  big 
elm,  where  was  the  only  spot  of  grass  in  the  play- 
ground, and  shared  their  luncheon  from  the  same 
tin  pail,  while  Kitty  chattered  and  giggled  enthu- 
siastically about  the  nice  little  girls  and  boys  in  her 
class,  not  mentioning  her  first  faux  pas  in  connec- 
tion with  "  I  have  a  cat." 

He  did  not  tweak  her  long,  black  braid,  nor 
drop  ants  down  her  back,  but  sat  with  meditative 
scowl.  His  fright  in  the  woods  had  suggested 
work  for  Miss  Tracy's  piano,  —  something  that 
should  ripple  like  the  brook  and  thunder  in  the 
bass  with  dreadful  suggestions.  He  took  his 


90  ROMAN  BIZNET 

slate,  ruling  it  from  top  to  bottom  in  bars  of  five 
lines,  covering  them  with  notes  in  pairs,  like  rabbit 
tracks. 

"  Make  a  picture  of  a  little  girl,"  said  Kitty, 
breathing  into  his  ear  and  leaning  heavily  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Those  are  all  little  girls  running  down  the  road 
to  school,"  he  explained,  craftily. 

"  Make  their  arms  and  legs." 

"  There  they  are,"  he  answered,  pointing  to  some 
eighth  and  sixteenth  notes. 

"  Let  me  make  a  little  girl." 

"  No,  sir  !  You  let  it  alone  !  There  's  a  nice 
little  girl  coming,"  he  added,  wickedly,  as  he  looked 
up  and  saw  Bessie  Heathway  coming  over  the 
grounds.  "  Go  and  ask  her  to  play  with  you." 

Kitty  promptly  jumped  up  and  ran  toward  the 
stiff  pink  gingham  figure.  Rome  watched  from 
the  corners  of  his  eyes,  with  an  evilly  expectant 
grin,  which  changed  to  amazement  as  the  unap- 
proachable Bess  Heathway  swung  Kitty  into  the 
air  to  kiss  her,  produced  a  piece  of  ribbon  from 
her  pocket,  and  harnessing  Kitty  as  a  horse,  pro- 
ceeded to  drive  that  spirited  animal  about  the  now 
rapidly  filling  playground. 

Rome  grunted  and  returned  to  his  rabbit  tracks. 
They  would  not  do  his  bidding,  however,  so  he 
smeared  them  out,  and  lay  back,  with  his  hat  over 
his  face,  thinking  the  sounds  he  could  not  write. 
His  rest  was  broken  by  Billy  Tracy  sitting  down 
upon  his  head  and  then  apologizing  profusely. 

"  You  're  getting  too  funny  !  "  growled  Rome, 
trying  to  resuscitate  his  hat. 


"UNNECESSARY"  91 

"  Bess  Heathway  seems  to  like  Kitty  better  than 
she  does  you,"  mused  Billy. 

"  What  do  I  care  !  "  growled  Rome.  "  She 's  a 
—  a  codfish  "  —  it  was  the  most  uncomplimentary 
term  that  occurred  to  him  —  "a  salt  codfish,"  he 
repeated,  relishingly. 

A  number  of  girls  were  playing  "  Miss  Jinny 
O' Jones."  Kitty  acted  the  part  of  the  versatile 
Jinny,  while  Bess  chanted  the  responses  of  the 
sympathetic  neighbor  :  — 

"  We  've  come  to  see  Miss  Jinny  O' Jones, 

And  how  is  she  to-day  ?  " 
"  Washing." 
"  That 's  very  good  for  Jinny  O'Jones ; 

We  '11  call  another  day." 

And  so  on  until  the  reply  that  Jinny  is  dead,  when 
the  query  anxiously  turns  upon  the  color  to  bury 
her  in.  While  this  part  of  the  game  was  going  on, 
however,  Kitty's  red  legs  began  to  kick  violently, 
and  sitting  up,  she  declared  vehemently  that  she 
was  n't  dead  and  never  would  be,  and  she  would  n't 
wear  anything  but  red  anyhow.  Whereupon  half 
the  girls  began  to  scold,  and  the  other  half  said 
she  should  play  at  being  their  little  girl.  This 
suited  her  perfectly,  and  she  was  joyously  receiv- 
ing her  fifth  spanking  at  the  hands  of  her  third 
mother  when  the  gong  sounded. 

Rome,  thinking  comfortably  that  a  weight  of 
responsibility  had  been  lifted  from  his  shoulders, 
returned  to  his  rabbit  tracks  under  the  shelter  of 
his  geography. 

The  afternoon  droned  away.     A  cicada  outside 


92  ROMAN  BIZNET 

the  door  whetted  his  scythe  and  the  teacher's 
nerves.  Bess  Heathway  went  to  sleep  with  her 
head  on  her  arm,  and  Rome,  turning  about,  filled 
her  lax  palm  with  torn  paper,  and  pulled  the  hair- 
pins out  of  her  topknot ;  growing  bolder,  he  even 
purloined  her  pink  ribbon,  and  was  unbraiding 
her  hair  amid  the  approving  grins  of  all  the  school 
when  Bess  stirred,  and  he  returned  studiously  to 
his  slate.  Presently  he  felt  the  point  of  a  pin 
pressing  into  the  back  of  his  neck.  He  gave  no 
sign.  It  kept  on  until  it  drew  blood,  and  then 
was  withdrawn.  "You  felt  it  just  the  same!" 
said  a  wrathful  whisper  in  his  ear. 

He  was  turning  about  with  a  languishing  look 
when  the  teacher  rapped  sharply.  The  hands  of 
the  clock  pointed  to  quarter  to  four.  Bess  went  to 
the  organ,  and  the  school  marched  out  to  the  thin 
strains  of  the  "  Titus  March." 

Rome  found  Kitty  crying  at  the  door  of  her 
class-room.  "  There 's  a  liT  gal  says  my  mamma 's 
a  washwoman,  and  that  her  mamma  won't  let  her 
play  with  me,"  she  wailed. 

They  lingered  to  eat  unripe  wild  grapes,  tres- 
passing daringly  some  six  feet  within  the  Heath- 
way  pasture,  while  a  mild  black  bull  turned  his 
pink-white  face  doubtfully  toward  Kitty's  red  dress. 
When  he  sauntered  nearer  —  possibly  thinking  a 
red  poppy  out  of  season  would  flavor  his  cud  — 
they  scrambled  a  retreat  over  the  fence,  tasting  all 
the  joy  of  a  hairbreadth  escape,  and  made  friends 
with  him  through  the  cracks  when  he  arrived,  blow- 


"UNNECESSARY"  93 

ing  his  fragrant  breath  at  them,  rolling  the  whites 
of  his  eyes  terribly  as  he  wrapped  his  great  pink 
tongue  around  an  apple  that  Rome  offered,  swal- 
lowing it  with  a  single  crunch,  as  one  takes  a 
homeopathic  pill. 

Kitty  looked  at  him  timidly  under  her  bang. 
"  Mamma  says  it 's  bad  luck  to  dream  of  cows," 
she  said,  pensively.  "  When  she  dreams  of  cows 
she  cries.  She  dreamed  of  cows  last  night." 

"  What 's  that  man  running  for,  I  wonder  ?  " 
said  Rome.  Up  the  road  they  saw  the  dust  rising, 
and  from  it  came  not  only  one  man,  but  two,  three, 
four  —  a  dozen !  They  came  so  fast  that  they 
were  abreast  of  them  and  had  passed  before  the 
children  could  shut  their  open  mouths  enough  to 
ask  a  question.  Among  these  running  men  they 
had  seen  the  butcher,  in  his  white  apron  with  its 
red  smears ;  John  Premo,  the  tailor,  his  yellow  tape 
measure  streaming  from  his  neck  ;  Aby  Frechette, 
his  bare  arms  all  flour,  and  various  customers  trail- 
ing on  behind,  —  one  man  wearing  a  half -stitched 
coat,  a  boy  carrying  an  unwrapped  loaf  of  bread 
in  one  hand  and  the  five  cents  to  pay  for  it  in  the 
other.  They  were  all  going  toward  French  Hol- 
low. Then  passed  Constable  Flaherty  on  horse- 
back, his  red  face  shining  with  excitement.  When 
he  saw  the  children,  who  had  come  out  farther  into 
the  road,  a  troubled  look  crossed  his  face,  and  he 
started  to  rein  up.  But  his  lumbering  horse  was 
under  a  momentum  not  easy  to  arrest.  He  turned 
in  the  saddle  and  shouted  to  them. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  asked  Kitty. 


94  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  He  said,  '  Don't  go  home ! '  "  answered  Rome, 
adding,  "  Come  on  !  "  And  taking  hold  of  hands, 
they  ran  toward  Phosy's  house. 

All  the  people  were  gathered  about  their  own 
door,  the  constable's  horse  standing  with  puffing 
nostrils  in  the  flower  bed,  boys  clinging  to  the 
window-sill  and  peering  within,  a  group  of  women 
crying  and  gesticulating  by  themselves,  and  one 
man  (to  whom  the  others  were  listening)  repeat- 
edly making  a  strange  gesture  —  drawing  his  finger 
across  his  throat. 

In  the  doorway,  seated  on  one  of  Phosy's  kitchen 
chairs  and  mopping  his  head  with  a  bandanna,  was 
Constable  Flaherty,  whom  nobody  but  the  sheriff 
and  the  undertaker  might  pass,  —  unless  possibly 
a  doctor  or  a  priest,  though  there  was  no  work 
there  for  either  of  them. 

"  I  told  yez  to  shtay  away !  "  he  said,  angrily,  as 
he  saw  the  children.  "  Can't  somebody  take  thot 
little  girl  away  ?  You  're  a  noice  boy  to  bring  her 
here  ! " 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Rome,  stupidly. 
"  Why  can't  we  go  in  ?  " 

"  Matther !  O  Lord !  "  groaned  the  constable. 
The  women  set  up  a  shrill  cackle  of  grief.  The 
man  had  stopped  his  story  and  put  his  gesticulat- 
ing hands  into  his  pockets. 

"  Come  here,  Kitty,"  said  a  quiet  voice  ;  "  and 
you  too,  Roman  Biznet."  Before  the  children, 
utterly  uncomprehending  as  yet  that  something  was 
very  seriously  wrong,  knew  what  they  were  doing, 
each  had  hold  of  a  lean,  yellow  hand  and  was 


"UNNECESSARY"  95 

walking  away,  one  on  either  side  of  Dr.  Win- 
throp. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  presently,"  he  would 
say  when  they  questioned  him,  — "  all  in  good 
time,  in  good  time."  Kitty  became  so  reassured 
that  she  confided  to  him  her  marvelous  experiences 
at  school.  But  about  Roman's  heart  a  sick  horror 
and  conviction  were  creeping,  for  he  saw  tears  roll- 
ing down  the  doctor's  sallow  cheeks. 

Then  he  knew  everything  in  a  flash.  Knew  more 
than  the  doctor  or  the  constable  or  the  sheriff 
were  ever  to  know,  for  they  had  not  seen  Antoine 
Biznet  in  the  woods. 

The  doctor  was  taking  them  to  his  own  house. 
As  they  went  up  the  wide  respectable  street,  chil- 
dren they  knew  at  school,  who  had  been  forbidden 
to  leave  their  yards  since  their  parents  had  heard 
of  the  murder,  looked  over  the  fences  at  them, 
with  awe-stricken  respect. 

Bess  Heathway  opened  her  gate  halfway.  "  I  'd 
like  Kitty  to  stay  with  me,"  she  said;  "  I'd  like 
her  for  my  little  sister." 

"  I  '11  ask  mamma,"  said  Kitty,  with  a  skip. 
Bess  looked  startled. 

"  We  can  talk  of  all  that  by-and-by,  Bessie," 
said  Dr.  Winthrop,  as  they  went  on. 

"  I  know,"  said  Rome,  gruffly,  unheard  by  Kitty, 
who  had  found  Susan  on  the  doorstep  washing  her 
face,  surrounded  by  a  family  of  kittens,  which  for 
some  reason  she  had  chosen  to  raise  in  Dr.  Win- 
throp's  woodshed  instead  of  at  the  Tracys',  where 
she  belonged. 


96  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  know,"  said  Rome  to  the  doctor ;  "  I  've 
guessed." 

"  Then  keep  Batty  from  guessing,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. 

"  Somebody 's  killed  her.     That  's  it,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  they  —  do  they  know  who  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Don't  they  even  give  a  guess  ?  " 

"  No.  You  may  be  able  to  help  them,  if  you 
answer  truthfully  everything  you  are  asked  when 
the  time  comes  and  say  nothing  to  anybody  until 
then.  And  —  you  must  be  a  man,  my  son." 

The  boy  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the  window, 
staring  out  fixedly,  his  chin  leaning  on  his  palms. 
He  was  wishing  he  had  had  sense  enough  to  get  to 
Phosy  before  Antoine.  The  idea  of  doubting  his 
father's  guilt  entered  his  head  no  more  than  did 
the  idea  of  betraying  him. 

Had  he  not  seen  his  mother  die  ?  To  be  sure 
there  had  been  no  blood  about  that,  and  Phoebe 
was  long  in  dying.  Then  he  thought  of  Antoine's 
playing  on  his  violin,  and  something  caught  in  his 
throat,  something  that  shook  his  chest  and  blinded 
him.  He  so  seldom  cried  that  he  hardly  knew  what 
it  was,  nor  why  Dr.  Winthrop  came  and  sat  with 
his  arm  around  him  and  finally,  when  the  shaking 
and  gasping  would  not  cease,  gave  him  a  spoonful 
of  something,  at  once  sweet  and  bitter,  after  which 
he  felt  quite  drowsy. 

He  heard  Kitty  ask  some  wondering,  sympa- 
thetic question  and  the  doctor  say  that  Komy  did 


"  UNNECESSARY  "  97 

not  feel  quite  well.  Then  the  great  bull  with  the 
pink  nose  looked  at  him  out  of  a  mist,  and  came 
near  and  sniffed  at  him,  and  he  was  afraid  because 
he  could  not  move  away  from  its  horns  and  hoofs. 
Then  it  was  not  the  bull,  but  Antoine  who  leaned 
over  him,  asking  him  if  he  would  like  to  hear  the 
fiddle,  but  as  he  spoke,  blood  ran  out  of  his  mouth, 
and  ran  and  ran  until  Rome  felt  it  rising  about 
him  like  water.  He  struggled  awake. 

Dr.  Winthrop's  quiet  voice  was  saying  :  "  Your 
mamma  is  sick,  Kitty,  and  you  are  going  to  stay 
and  be  my  little  girl  for  a  while." 

The  boy's  ears  seemed  to  have  gained  keenness 
with  the  drug.  In  the  road  he  heard  a  man  run- 
ning and  a  voice  from  a  distance  calling :  "  Where 
goin'  ?  " 

"  Heathway's  bloodhound ! "  replied  the  man 
who  ran.  It  was  growing  dark  and  clouds  were 
shutting  out  the  sunset. 

Rome,  in  a  vision,  saw  Pete  Premo  getting  the 
beast,  a  creature  so  terrible  that  it  was  allowed  to 
be  hardly  more  than  a  tradition  in  the  neighbor- 
hood and  was  seldom  seen,  —  a  fabled  monster, 
with  the  skill  of  a  devil,  the  wisdom  of  a  man,  the 
strength  of  an  ox,  whom  nothing  could  escape. 

Rome  hardly  knew  what  mental  processes  or 
physical  exertion  brought  him,  nor  what  time  had 
elapsed  in  his  getting  there,  but  he  stood  by  the 
fern  clump  at  last.  If  his  father  had  not  left 
the  neighborhood  entirely,  it  seemed  quite  likely 
he  would  have  returned  to  his  lair.  He  whistled 
a  bar  of  Antoine's  music,  and  listened  sharply. 


98  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Within  the  brake  was  a  faint  rustle,  like  a  snake 
slipping  on  its  coils. 

"You  are  there,  then,"  said  the  boy.  A  sigh 
answered  him.  "  What  did  you  do  it  for,  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  mumbled  a  voice.  "  I  asked 
her  for  something  to  eat  and  she  would  n't  let  me 
have  it,  so  I  started  to  help  myself  to  a  slice  of 
bread,  and  she  came  after  me,  and  I  had  the  knife. 
Do  they  know  it  was  me  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Orleana  saw  you  go  away.  They  know 
what  you  look  like,  but  don't  guess  who  you  are. 
They  're  after  you  now.  They  're  looking  in  the 
other  woods,  though,  but  Pete  Premo  has  gone  for 
Judge  Heathway's  bloodhound.  I  'd  just  as  soon 
they  'd  hang  you,  but  I  heard  them  telling  how 
bloodhounds  chawed  people  sometimes,  so  I  thought 
I  'd  let  you  know." 

"  Much  obliged,  I  'm  sure,"  sneered  the  voice. 
"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  them  where  I  was  and  save 
them  the  bother  of  going  for  the  dog  ?  " 

He  rose  out  of  the  brake. 

"  I  did  think  of  it,  but  I  used  to  like  to  hear 
you  play  the  fiddle,  so  I  thought  I  'd  give  you  a 
chance." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

«  Twelve." 

"  Ever  steal  anything  ?  " 

"N-no." 

"  KiU  anything  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Real  nice  little  boy,  hey  ?  " 

"  No.    How  can  I  be,  with  you  for  my  father  ?  " 


"UNNECESSARY"  99 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"  Phosy.     But  I  knew  it  anyway." 

"  Yes.  I  used  to  think  that  when  I  was  your 
age,  and  they  told  me  about  my  father.  See  here, 
boy,  go  ahead  and  be  famous,  and  be  as  good  a 
man  as  you  can.  You  've  got  it  in  you,  I  guess. 
I  had  n't,  someway  "  —  He  stopped  and  listened. 
Far  in  the  distance  came  a  long,  deep  bay. 

"  Run  !  run !  "  said  the  boy.  The  man  jumped 
into  the  stream  and  waded  up  through  its  wind- 
ings. 

Rome,  plunging  blindly  through  the  under- 
brush, never  stopped  running  until  he  found  him- 
self in  Dr.  Winthrop's  kitchen.  Mrs.  Orleana 
was  there,  holding  Kitty,  who  had  fallen  asleep 
with  wet  cheeks.  Lizzie  was  squatting  before  the 
stove,  and  in  a  dim  corner  sat  a  trim  black-robed 
figure,  which  he  did  not  know  at  first,  seeing  it  in 
that  unaccustomed  place.  When  he  saw  that  it 
was  Miss  Tracy  and  that  she  held  out  a  hand  to- 
ward him,  he  went  up  to  her,  and  standing  by  her 
side  leaned  his  head  against  her  breast.  She 
passed  her  arm  about  him,  and  with  one  hand  put 
his  stiff  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  The  friendly 
touch  seemed  to  snap  the  steel  wire  that  had  held 
his  nerves  together,  and  he  began  to  tremble. 
From  trembling,  he  shook  as  if  with  ague. 

"  They  've  set  the  bloodhounds  after  him  !  "  he 
shrieked,  and  fell  upon  the  floor,  crying  hysteri- 
cally. 

Miss  Tracy  picked  him  up  and  held  him  in  her 
lap.  He  had  thought  himself  almost  a  man,  but 


100  ROMAN  BIZNET 

presently  falling  asleep  with  his  thumb  in  his 
mouth  and  his  long  lashes  wet  with  tears,  he 
seemed  hardly  so  old  as  Kitty. 

"  My  poor  little  genius !  "  said  Miss  Tracy, 
softly.  "  Doctor,  I  'm  going  to  take  him  alto- 
gether. I  —  I  believe  the  Lord  means  I  should. 
I  shall  make  him  a  gentleman  and  he  shall  be 
Billy's  brother." 

The  doctor  looked  apprehensive. 

"  Do  you  realize  all  that  would  mean,  Emily  ? 
I  would  n't  do  such  a  thing  on  impulse,  —  be- 
sides "  —  He  had  been  going  to  say  that  he  had 
thought  of  taking  the  children  himself,  but  he  was 
a  poor  man  and  feeble.  Emily  Tracy,  if  she  chose, 
could  do  much  more  for  them. 

"  What  about  Kitty?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  —  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  take  her  if  I  take 
the  boy.  I  fancy  she 's  a  good  little  thing.  I 
can  train  her  to  be  self-supporting  at  least.  As  a 
teacher,  perhaps.  Roman  Biznet  seems  fond  of 
her.  They  are  as  alike  as  brother  and  sister." 

"  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  do,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, gravely.  "  But  would  you  have  the  patience 
to  carry  it  through?  It  would  be  sad  if  you 
should  wish  some  day  that  you  had  left  them  as 
you  found  them  —  ignorant  and  —  well,  perhaps 
happier  than  knowledge  and  dependence  may  make 
them.  I  speak  plainly." 

But  Miss  Tracy  had  only  one  argument,  tearful 
and  pious,  "  I  believe  the  Lord  means  me  to  do  it. 
Oh,  doctor,  my  life  has  been  so  empty !  " 

The  doctor,  who  had  no  one,  looked  puzzled. 


"UNNECESSARY"  101 

He  did  not  see  how  a  woman  with  such  a  manly 
little  fellow  as  Billy  for  a  nephew  and  with  a 
supposedly  charming  niece  abroad,  who  could  be 
brought  home  any  day  for  the  asking,  could  find 
life  quite  empty.  He  also  knew  something  of  the 
half -tamed,  French-Indian  temperament ;  that  it 
might  prove  troublesome  to  so  Anglo-Saxon  and 
conventional  a  mind  as  that  of  Miss  Emily  Tracy. 
He  glanced  wistfully  at  Kitty,  —  such  a  tiny  thing, 
as  she  lay  nestled  into  pillows  he  had  propped 
about  her  when  Mrs.  Orleana  brought  her  in.  She 
was  still  wearing  the  red  dress  that  Alphonsine 
had  made.  The  stiff,  new  ankle-ties  had  been  re- 
moved. There  was  a  hole  in  the  little  red  stock- 
ing. Alphonsine  would  have  been  mending  it  that 
evening,  probably. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  unnecessary  and  ter- 
rible to  the  doctor.  "  Unnecessary  "  was  a  word 
he  often  used  for  cruel  and  heart-breaking  things. 
In  his  vocabulary  it  was  a  kind  of  rebuke  to  the 
God  that  made  things  so. 

"  I  '11  take  them  with  me  to-night,  doctor." 

"To-night?" 

He  did  not  see  why  she  need  hurry  so.  He 
could  at  least  have  kept  them  over  night;  he 
should  not  have  slept  anyway,  what  with  his  liver 
—  and  they  could  have  been  quiet  and  comfortable 
on  his  wide  bed,  where  he  could  watch  their  little 
dark  faces  and  dream  that  the  children  of  his 
imagination  had  at  last  taken  on  flesh  and  blood. 
He  had  once  loved  a  woman  as  dark  as  they. 
That  was  before  the  war.  Men  who  live  alone 


102  ROMAN  BIZNET 

and  who  suffer  physically  must  perforce  dream 
many  things,  surround  themselves  with  mirages  of 
cheerfulness,  if  only  to  keep  out  the  bloodthirsty 
phantoms  of  despair.  He  had  peopled  his  little 
house  with  the  ghosts  of  children  who  had  never 
been  born,  with  a  shadowy  wife  who  came  and 
went  silently,  and  sometimes  kissed  him  as  he 
slept.  Her  face  never  changed.  The  children's 
faces,  until  to-night,  had  been  vague.  But  he  was 
a  poor  man,  and  if  Emily  Tracy  would  do  well  by 
them  — 

He  took  up  Kitty,  tenderly.  The  boy  waked 
enough  to  walk,  and  the  four  went  over  to  the 
Tracy  house. 

After  the  door  had  shut  between  them  and  Dr. 
Winthrop,  he  was  almost  minded  to  open  it  again 
and  demand  Kitty  at  least.  It  did  not  seem  right. 
Emily  Tracy  was  so  impulsive !  What  of  the 
years  to  come,  when  her  impulse  should  have 
worn  out? 


PAKT  H 


CHAPTER  I 

ROMAN   BIZNET  IS   "GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD." 

THE  children  grew  up  swiftly.  Twelve-year- 
olds  are  more  nearly  men  and  women  than  one 
realizes.  Doctor  Winthrop  received  a  call  one 
day  from  a  young  woman  with  her  skirts  down  to 
her  ankles. 

"Not  Bessie  Heathway!  You  were  nursing  a 
doll  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !  I  have  n't  played  with  dolls 
for  ever  so  long." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  " 

And  a  day  or  two  after,  or  a  month  or  a  year,  a 
huge  young  fellow,  with  evidences  upon  his  face 
of  a  recent  razor,  called  to  shake  hands  with  the 
doctor  and  say  good-by  before  he  went  to  Yale. 

"  Bless  me !  Whatever  has  become  of  little 
Billy  Tracy?  Surely  last  week  I  helped  you 
make  a  kite ! "  And  the  doctor  became  even 
more  meditative  than  usual,  and  for  some  time 
after  these  surprises  had  hard  work  keeping  his 
pipe  alight. 

But  there  was  one  child  who  stayed  little  for  a 
long  time,  and  did  not  grow  too  heavy  to  sit  on 
his  knee,  was  demure,  quiet,  and  a  little  sad  ;  that 
was  Kitty  Conto,  who  remained  a  child  so  long 
that  people  began  to  call  her  stunted.  Then  she 


106  ROMAN  BIZNET 

spindled  up  far  enough  to  bring  her  eyes  to  a  level 
with  Billy's  vest  button  second  from  the  top, 
whereupon  they  lengthened  her  skirts,  put  up  her 
heavy  black  braids,  and  sent  her  to  the  new  Nor- 
mal School  to  learn  to  be  a  teacher. 

As  for  Roman  Biznet,  Miss  Emily  Tracy's  plans 
concerning  him  had  turned  out  much  as  she  ex- 
pected. He  was  a  genius,  and  she  "  gave  him  to 
the  world,"  whatever  that  may  mean.  Cosmos 
understood  it  to  mean  great  philanthropy  and 
greater  resources  on  Miss  Tracy's  part ;  and  many 
were  the  young  aspirants  during  those  years  who 
managed  to  let  Miss  Tracy  know,  one  way  or 
another,  that  they,  too,  would  like  to  be  "  given  to 
the  world."  There  was  Gladys  Wells,  the  minis- 
ter's daughter,  who  thought  the  world  would  find 
a  use  for  her  voice  if  it  were  cultivated,  and  her 
brother,  Benjamin  Junior,  who  wanted  to  study 
medicine;  and  little  Patience  Bartlett,  who  wanted 
a  bit  of  help  to  take  her  through  college  —  but  it 
did  n't  matter,  for  she  died  that  year,  instead. 
That  was  the  year  when  Roman  Biznet  went 
abroad,  and  they  said  she  had  been  very  much 
in  love  with  him.  There  was  a  romantic  notion 
about,  that  she  would  have  lived  if  it  had  n't  been 
for  Rome's  going  away  and  her  disappointment 
about  college  coming  together.  Children  grieve 
terribly  over  these  things. 

Miss  Tracy  kept  Roman  until  he  was  nearly 
twenty,  a  slim,  swarthy  lad,  of  little  physical 
strength,  dreamy,  lazy.  He  had  not  finished  his 
work  at  the  high  school  in  the  class  with  Elizabeth 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  107 

Heathway,  but  one  did  not  mind  his  stupidity  in 
those  matters  when  one  considered  his  music.  In 
that  year  when  Bess  entered  Smith  (Billy  was  then 
a  Sophomore  at  Yale)  Biznet  was  sent  abroad. 

Budding  genius  is  not  always  ill-treated.  The 
youngster  climbing  the  ladder  is  not  inevitably 
kicked  in  the  face  by  the  heel  of  him  next  above. 
If  the  genius  is  real,  he  is  just  as  likely  to  fall  in 
with  some  old  Elijah  who  wants  nothing  so  much 
as  a  worthy  understudy  for  his  mantle  ;  and  Herr 
Zukoffsky,  the  Herr  Direktor,  rejoiced  over  his  new 
disciple. 

Zukoffsky  was  a  bit  of  an  alienist,  something  of 
a  biologist,  an  ethnologist,  a  philologist ;  these 
studies  were  merely  his  playthings,  music  being 
his  serious  business  in  life.  There  were  strange 
conformations  in  Roman  Biznet's  face  and  skull. 
Zukoffsky  took  him  to  various  laboratories,  where 
he  measured  him,  and  questioned  him  until  it 
dawned  upon  the  boy  that  Herr  Zukoffsky  would 
have  considered  him  better  placed  in  the  criminal 
class,  and  with  this  understanding  Biznet  set  about 
coloring  his  past  life  vividly,  giving  much  anxious 
thought  to  his  confessions,  that  he  might  keep  the 
golden  mean  between  an  utterly  atrocious  villain 
and  a  pretty  good  fellow.  He  generally  let  it 
go  at  mysterious  temptations,  to  which  he  had 
not  yielded  ;  and  that  he  might  shine  as  a  racon- 
teur, spent  much  time  and  pains  on  the  German 
language. 

Somewhat  to  his  alarm,  on  making  this  mental 
inventory,  he  found  that  there  was  quite  enough 


108  ROMAN  BIZNET 

that  was  curious  and  needed  no  embellishment,  to 
keep  the  professor  happy,  indefinitely.  The  Herr 
Direktor's  questions,  like  a  policeman's  bull's-eye, 
showed  him  lurking  figures  of  evil  that  he  had  not 
suspected. 

"  Your  tendencies  are  thus  and  so,"  quoth  the 
old  gentleman,  after  various  manipulations  recall- 
ing Alphonsine's,  and  the  Black  Art. 

And  behold,  it  was  so !  And  some  might  say 
that  it  was  the  old  man's  folly  that  put  it  all  into 
the  boy's  head,  —  that  Antoine  the  First,  and 
the  Second,  though  dormant  in  him,  might  have 
remained  so,  while  his  soul  was  steeped  in  music 
and  his  environment  good.  However,  there  is  an- 
other argument,  "  Know  thyself ; "  and  if  one  is 
skillful  about  it,  and  the  dog  is  sleepy  enough,  he 
may  be  chained  while  quiet,  and  then,  if  some 
shock  wakes  him  up,  the  chains  may  hold  while 
one  escapes.  It  causes  some  worry  to  know  he  is 
there,  to  be  sure,  but  may  save  trouble,  ulti- 
mately. 

But  he  felt  no  particular  evil  stirring  in  him  at 
that  time,  nor  indeed  thoughts  of  any  kind  except 
such  as  he  could  readily  write  out  on  bars  of  five 
lines,  or  express  upon  his  'cello.  The  'cello  was 
the  Herr  Direktor's  gift.  It  had  belonged  to  a 
young  Zukoffsky,  long  dead. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  third  year  he  fell  ill,  at 
least  he  said  he  was  ill,  but  it  was  not  an  illness 
easy  of  diagnosis.  One  of  the  most  aggravating 
things  about  it  was  that  his  body  was  stronger  than 
ever.  His  cheeks,  which  had  been  thin  and  sallow 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  109 

all  his  life,  began  to  have  a  flush  of  red  blood  in 
them  like  those  of  a  white  man,  a  freshening  of  his 
complexion,  as  of  another  race  showing  through 
the  red.  His  eyes  were  bright  and  clear;  he 
could  outwalk,  outfence  any  man  of  his  size. 

But  his  good  nature  was  gone.  Between  his 
eyebrows  there  came  a  fine,  hard  line.  Men  who 
stood  opposite  him  with  a  foil  were  nervous  about 
the  button  on  his  tip.  He  lost  his  popularity. 

He  had  plodded  along  in  a  business-like  way  at 
his  studies,  absorbed  and  cheerful ;  now,  suddenly 
a  Maenad  was  at  his  shoulder,  threatening  vague 
disaster.  Not  petty,  every-day  disaster,  like  death 
or  disgrace,  but  something  that  rumbled  subter- 
raneously,  got  into  his  ear-drums,  quaked  in  his 
Adam's  apple.  He  rushed  at  music  in  a  panic, 
like  a  cat  taking  to  a  tree.  Then  it  was  that  the 
Conservatory  stood  by  in  wonder  and  Fame  blew 
upon  her  trumpet. 

But  he  did  not  care,  for  he  was  homesick,  and 
thought  much  about  a  little  yellow  man  in  Cosmos 
who  kept  good  bitter  medicines,  which  he  adminis- 
tered with  wholesome  acrid  advice,  doing  good 
to  soul  and  body.  The  German  doctors  said  there 
was  nothing  the  matter  with  him,  while  looking 
at  him  sidelong,  and  Zukoffsky  put  up  his  deli- 
cate soul-measuring  instruments,  fearing  the  red 
disks  in  Biznet's  eyes,  and  the  hard  line  between 
his  eyebrows,  like  the  cut  of  a  sharp  tool. 

"  Ach,  mein  Sohn,"  he  said  sadly,  "  for  such  as 
thou  art,  God  should  have  existed." 

"  Don't  you  mean  the  Devil  ?  " 


110  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  The  Devil  ?  I  have  never  doubted  him  at  any 
time." 

Biznet  had  a  room-mate,  a  weak-eyed  young  art- 
ist who  would  have  been  a  cartoonist  if  he  had 
possessed  a  sense  of  humor ;  and  this  man  he  so 
seriously  annoyed,  being  sleepy  by  day,  wakeful 
at  night,  unreasonable  at  all  times,  that  a  duel 
nearly  came  to  pass.  This  would  have  pleased 
Biznet  immensely,  but  somehow  the  challenge 
never  came. 

He  would  edge  Baumgarten  and  his  dreary  jokes 
away  from  the  only  window  and  plant  himself 
there  with  his  'cello,  not  needing  the  light  for  that 
or  for  anything  else,  while  Baumgarten,  like  a  cat 
chased  into  a  corner  by  a  broom,  sat  in  helpless 
indignation  within  a  cloud  of  smoke,  looking  out 
with  round  face,  his  round  eyes  exaggerated  by 
near-sighted  glasses,  while  Biznet  sawed  away  with 
such  unspeakable  discord  of  false  notes  with  rough 
edges  as  could  only  be  accomplished  by  perfect 
technique  and  knowledge  of  harmony.  There  was 
also  a  medical  student,  named  Bauer,  who  was 
very  young  and  proportionately  wise,  loving  to 
practice  surreptitiously. 

One  day,  —  Biznet  announcing  with  a  carefully 
selected  stock  of  German  oaths  that  he  was  sick, 
for  sleep  had  forsaken  him,  and  that  he  should 
probably  murder  Baumgarten  presently,  because 
he  was  out  of  catgut,  and  did  n't  feel  able  to  go 
out  to  buy  any,  and  Baumgarten  looked  so  much 
like  a  cat  anyway  that  it  would  n't  make  any  par- 
ticular difference,  —  Bauer  felt  his  pulse,  noticed  a 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  111 

nervous  pulsation  at  his  mouth  corner,  and  shook 
his  head  ponderously,  then  produced  a  little  needle 
with  which  he  pierced  his  arm,  pumping  therein  a 
night's  sleep. 

"  That 's  the  stuff !  "  mumbled  Biznet,  while  his 
nerves  untangled  like  a  skein  of  yarn.  He  grinned 
sleepily  at  Baumgarten.  "  Go  to  work,  old  chap, 
you  can  have  the  window." 

The  medical  student's  cap  twisted  spirally  to 
the  ceiling,  his  attenuated  neck  following  like  a 
swaying  bell  cord.  The  room  blurred,  little  zig- 
zag golden  lights  twinkling  in  its  gray  obscurity. 
Vague  voices  in  his  ear-drums  debated  earnestly, 
but  as  he  listened  eagerly  for  the  outcome  the 
sound  dwindled  and  receded. 

It  was  still  his  own  bed,  he  knew,  and  the  same 
room.  His  eyes  were  half  open  and  focused  on 
the  door  of  the  white  tile  stove,  but  he  could  not 
move  the  pupils  by  a  hair's  breadth  to  increase  his 
arc  of  vision.  Within  him  was  a  struggle  as  of 
two  concentric  bodies  disputing  for  their  common 
centre,  —  as  if  one  of  the  involved  spheres  of  a 
Chinese  puzzle  should  begin  to  grow,  and  this 
contest  finally  caused  some  microscopic  fissure  in 
the  inert  outer  shell,  through  which  he  emerged 
like  steam,  looked  back,  and  saw  the  shell  still 
lying  on  the  bed,  one  arm  under  its  head,  the  other 
thrown  wide  across  the  plump  blue  feather-bed. 
The  eyes  were  half  open  under  their  heavy  lids 
and  looked  dull  and  glassy.  The  room  was  full  of 
moonlight  and  the  night  lamp  flickered  dingily. 
Baumgarten  snored. 


112  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Yet  the  room  was  not  altogether  as  it  should  be. 
There  were  present  those  things  that  children  fear 
in  the  dark,  and  he  knew  himself  to  be  in  that  ob- 
scure border  world  of  murky  substance  which  has 
no  landmark  or  guide.  The  room,  Baumgarten, 
and  the  Roman  Biznet  on  the  bed  had  little  sig- 
nificance, but  there  were  other  creatures  about, 
though  they  eluded  his  sight.  Every  time  he 
turned  his  head  something  stepped  out  of  the 
range  of  vision.  He  spun  about  in  anger,  trying 
to  be  too  quick  for  this  evasion.  It  spun  after, 
faster,  faster  —  until  both  of  them  in  a  spiral  eddy 
swept  out  through  the  shut  window  and  twirled 
away  over  the  city,  dizzily,  for  a  year. 

He  sat  down  at  last  beneath  Alphonsine's  old 
kitchen  table.  It  was  crowded  and  cramped  there, 
for  he  was  of  man's  size,  though  Kitty,  in  a  red 
dress,  trotting  about,  was  the  Kitty  who  had  be- 
longed in  that  kitchen  at  that  time,  with  eyes  just 
on  a  level  with  the  table-top.  He  held  his  breath 
and  drew  back  to  escape  contact  with  Phosy's  feet 
and  skirt.  It  seemed  some  terrible  calamity  would 
befall  if  she  found  him,  yet  she  was  in  a  good  hu- 
mor, singing  French  songs  with  nasal  cheerfulness. 

He  held  up  a  warning  finger  to  keep  Kitty  quiet. 
She  put  her  thumb  in  her  mouth,  frowning.  Some- 
thing scratched  at  the  door,  and  whined.  He 
remembered  swiftly  that  this  was  the  Heathway 
bloodhound,  old  Cerberus,  from  whom  he  had  been 
running  away  for  many  years.  He  signaled  fran- 
tically to  Kitty  to  keep  her  mother  from  opening 
the  door,  but  she  stood  sulkily  sucking  her  thumb. 


"GIVEN  TO  THE   WORLD"  113 

Phosy  lifted  the  latch.  Pat  —  pat  —  pat !  he  could 
see  the  four  great  feet  approaching.  Phosy  slowly 
raised  a  corner  of  the  tablecloth.  She  and  the 
dog  looked  in  upon  him,  cheek  by  cheek.  But  it 
was  not  Phosy's  face.  It  was  the  Gorgon  Medusa. 
He  woke  with  a  yell. 

"  Thunderweather !  You  must  have  a  bad  con- 
science," grumbled  Baumgarten.  But  before  Biz- 
net  could  retort,  Baumgarten  changed  to  Bess 
Heathway  in  her  graduating  gown ;  Bess  Heath- 
way,  with  uplifted,  monitory  finger,  who  lectured 
him  severely  about  many  things,  until  he  groaned 
with  weariness,  and  turned  aside  to  dig,  dig,  dig 
in  the  leafy  black  soil  of  the  Adirondack  woods. 
He  was  working  with  the  bow  of  his  'cello,  and  as 
he  dug,  the  soil  crumbled  and  heaved  as  if  over  a 
mole's  burrow.  The  bloodhound  was  with  him 
again,  but  this  time  as  a  friend,  helping  to  paw 
away  the  earth  —  dig,  dig,  dig. 

"  She  has  gone  deeper,"  said  the  dog. 

"Who  has?" 

"  Kitty." 

Dig,  dig,  dig ! 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  the  dog  cheerfully.  They 
came  upon  a  child's  hand  deep  down  in  the  soil. 
Rome  grasped  it.  It  was  warm  and  living.  The 
fingers  closed  about  his  own. 

"  Got  her  ?  "  said  the  dog.     "  Pull  away !  " 

And  when  he  had  pulled,  it  was  not  Kitty  that 
came  up,  but  Bess  Heathway,  quite  indignant, 
brushing  the  soil  from  her  long,  light  hair. 

Then  came  a  strange  voice  singing  a   strange 


114  ROMAN  BIZNET 

melody,  yet  as  he  listened  he  knew  both  voice  and 
tune.  He  fled  and  the  song  pursued.  He  could 
not  have  told  whether  it  was  for  minutes  or  hours, 
but  gravitation  let  go  of  him,  and  he  flitted  lightly, 
like  a  bat,  through  obscure  places.  This  air,  with 
an  elaborate  accompaniment,  stayed  in  Roman  Biz- 
net's  ears  when  he  awoke  finally  to  reason  in  the 
early  dawn. 

He  glanced  with  blurred  vision  toward  Baum- 
garten,  his  bristle  of  flaxen  hair  poked  out  at  one 
end  of  the  pudgy  blue  gingham  feather-bed,  but 
that  solid  Teuton  seemed  rather  less  real  than  the 
flimsy  and  vanished  nightmare.  Opening  the  door 
of  the  white  tile  stove  he  put  on  coal  with  a  crash. 

"Ach,  Donner wetter,"  moaned  poor  Baumgar- 
ten,  "  he  is  awake  again  !  " 

"  Shut  up  and  go  to  sleep.     Ass !  " 

He  hauled  out  a  pack  of  music  paper  and  worked 
until  the  sky  beyond  the  Dom  had  run  its  gamut 
of  watery  gray,  mottled  pink  and  yellow,  and  broad 
sun-shot  blue,  glancing  up  now  and  then  as  he 
wrote.  The  music  that  he  was  writing  was  thin, 
evil,  of  the  darkness ;  in  some  way  that  he  did  not 
understand,  the  sunrise  touched  it  with  little  golden 
lights  and  lines  of  firer  giving  it  beauty  as  it  gave 
beauty  to  other  mournful  exhalations  of  the  night. 
Other  themes  came  singing  in  his  ears,  something 
fine,  high  and  shrill  beyond  what  a  violin  can  do, 
something  deeper  than  a  bass  viol's  compass.  He 
thought  of  the  stones  that  sang  at  the  rising  of 
the  sun ;  it  seemed  that  the  great  Dom  was  not 
entirely  silent. 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  115 

Baumgarten  got  up  and  made  coffee,  putting 
some  at  Biznet's  elbow  as  a  peace  offering.  Bauer, 
with  professional  solemnity,  had  said  that  Biznet 
must  have  coffee  on  awakening.  Baumgarten's 
coffee  was  always  good.  It  was  the  only  thing 
about  him  that  Biznet  never  found  fault  with. 

He  had  finished  when  Herr  Zukoffsky  came. 
The  old  man  had  learned  that  he  was  ill  and  came 
trembling.  Death  and  young  genius  were  nearly 
associated  in  his  mind,  for  he  had  lived  long  and 
knew  the  ways  of  the  gods  in  these  matters  ;  but 
when  he  saw  Biznet  well  and  working,  his  anxiety 
turned  to  petulance,  for  he  was  asthmatic  and  had 
walked  rapidly.  He  took  up  the  manuscript  in  a 
scathing  mood.  After  he  had  read  a  bar  or  two, 
he  looked  bewildered. 

"  Your  work,  this  ?  " 

"  I  dreamed  it  last  night." 

The  professor's  brow  cleared.  He  did  not  like 
plagiarism. 

"  Ach  so !  A  freak  of  memory,  then,  and  remark- 
able. You  heard  it  and  forgot.  I  went  to  school 
with  the  man  who  wrote  it.  Von  Kettner  it  was. 
But  that  he  killed  a  man  and  left  the  country  se- 
cretly —  there  was  none  like  him  —  none.  But  he 
was  bad.  Of  his  work  only  this  and  a  little  more 
is  left.  You  rarely  hear  it  now,  and  only  here. 
It  was  never  published.  This  is  the  Brocken  frag- 
ment, and  the  song  of  the  Red  Mouse.  He  planned 
to  do  a  Faust.  Gounod  was  n't  —  is  n't  —  wie 
heisst  es  ?  —  is  n't  in  it  with  him." 

He  beamed  proudly  at  his  little  exhibition  of 


116  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Yankee  slang.  Philology  was  one  of  his  weak- 
nesses. 

"  I  swear  I  never  heard  it,"  said  Roman  be- 
wildered, then  stopped  short. 

What  was  that  about  his  grandfather's  name 
having  begun  with  a  Von,  before  he  rechristened 
himself  Biznet  ? 

Something  inside  him  heaved  and  quivered,  like 
a  startled  compass  needle  when  a  piece  of  iron  sits 
down  beside  it.  He  knew  as  well  as  he  knew  the 
scale  of  C  that  he  had  never  heard  any  "Red 
Mouse  "  song,  nor  that  thin  sneering  tenor  voice 
of  subtly  wicked  timbre,  before  it  came  into  his 
opium  dream,  but  he  acquiesced  blankly  when 
Zukoffsky  declared  it  a  freak  of  memory. 

Freak  of  memory !  It  was  his  grandfather  him- 
self, long  crumbled  to  dust  among  Adirondack 
sand  and  boulders,  who  now  took  substance  within 
his  brain. 

Biznet  nervously  poured  a  glass  of  brandy,  drink- 
ing it  without  remonstrance  from  Zukoffsky,  who 
was  looking  into  the  past  with  a  little  reminiscent 
devil  leering  from  his  bleary  eyelids. 

"  Ach,  lieber  !  But  he  was  bad !  "  he  murmured 
relishingly. 

"  You  bet  your  life  he  was  bad,"  said  Biznet 
tensely,  thinking  of  when  Powasket's  long-suffer- 
ing daughter  chopped  his  head  open,  wastefully 
strewing  that  musical  brain  in  the  dust  and  cinders. 

"  I  bet  my  life  he  was  bad,"  assented  Zukoff- 
sky, cheerily. 

"  Of  course,  as  you  say,  I  must  have  heard  it 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  117 

and  forgotten.  A  man's  brain  is  an  odd  thing, 
is  n't  it  ?  '  Genug,  die  Maus  war  doch  nicht 
grau.'  "  His  voice  was  harsh,  and  impossible  in 
singing.  Its  few  notes  were  tenor. 

Zukoffsky  looked  up  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion. "  I  wonder  why  your  voice  should  remind 
me  of  Franz  Von  Kettner's  ?  A  trick  of  my  own 
brain  probably.  The  imagination  of  the  ear  is  as 
great  as  the  imagination  of  the  eye ! " 

Whereat  Biznet  sat  down  on  the  floor  and 
laughed  long  and  shrilly.  " '  Ein  rothes  Maus- 
chen.'  Oh,  the  brain  is  queer  all  right !  '  Ihr 
aus  dem  Munde !  '  Don't  you  want  to  measure 
me  some  more  ?  There  are  lots  of  queer  things  in 
my  head  that  you  have  n't  got  at  yet." 

But  the  Herr  Direktor,  whose  dignity  was  a  sen- 
sitive-plant, stumped  downstairs  fuming.  Biznet, 
left  alone,  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  dramatic,  de- 
spairing gesture. 

"  And  I  wanted  to  be  good ! "  he  said,  plain- 
tively. He  locked  the  door  and  cried  himself  to 
sleep,  like  an  hysterical  girl,  sleeping  well  into  the 
afternoon,  his  long  lashes  stiff  with  dried  tears. 

Perhaps  in  some  way  Bauer  with  his  well-inten- 
tioned hypodermic  had  done  a  mischief.  It  is  not 
well  to  experiment  upon  the  brains  of  geniuses,  say 
those  who  know ;  they  bear  too  strong  a  likeness 
to  other  brains  good  for  nothing  but  to  be  shut 
away  where  they  may  not  trouble  those  of  us  who 
are  sane  and  quiet,  living  within  our  three  dimen- 
sions methodically. 

Bauer's  illicit  tampering  may  have  sprung  from 


118  ROMAN  BIZNET 

its  hinges  the  door  of  a  Bluebeard's  chamber,  caus- 
ing a  lesion  of  some  infinitesimally  small,  thin  mem- 
brane, through  which  thereafter  inhabitants  of  a 
not  understood  region  might  have  access.  When 
the  mediaeval  vampire  had  once  filtered  vapor- 
ously  under  the  crack  of  a  door,  could  he  not 
afterward  go  and  come  at  ease  by  the  same  en- 
trance ?  There  are  as  many  curious  phenomena 
about  now  as  when  men  used  to  talk  of  ghosts  and 
devils,  fearful,  but  not  puzzled,  concerning  them. 
Now  we  are  wise  enough  to  be  very  much  puzzled, 
indeed,  —  are  as  bewildered  inventing  a  nomencla- 
ture and  making  a  catalogue,  as  Adam  was  when 
he  considered  his  lions,  lambs,  and  dinosaurs. 

So  the  shut  door,  once  opened,  afterward  showed 
a  tendency  to  spring  ajar  from  time  to  time,  when 
nerves  were  overwrought  and  the  bodily  tension 
was  wrong  throughout ;  and  he  grew  familiar  with 
that  region  where  something  is  wrong  with  Time, 
which  may  reel  off  a  thousand  years  while  the 
clock  strikes  one,  and  with  Space,  for  one  may  be 
chased  swiftly  to  the  moon  and  back,  yet  still  keep 
his  hand  on  the  anchor-rope  that  holds  him  to  his 
body. 

And  in  all  these  dreams  there  was  a  Jekyll- 
Hyde  polarization  of  two  men,  distinct,  though 
folded  up  in  each  other  like  spheres  united  by  that 
incomprehensible  Fourth  Dimension  which  mathe- 
maticians find  amusing.  These  things  bothered 
him,  and  yet  interested  him  like  a  new  toy  during 
his  last  year  at  the  Conservatory,  and  out  of  his 
abnormal  sensations  he  sometimes  evolved  musical 
ideas,  thus  turning  them  to  account. 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  119 

It  was  in  February  that  one  Isaac  Liebermann 
visited  the  Conservatory  and  made  his  acquain- 
tance. Liebermann  was  a  man  who  dealt  in  genius, 
and  understood  the  science  of  introducing  it  to  a 
fastidious  and  moneyed  public.  But  Herr  Zukoff- 
sky  grew  rather  sober  when  he  learned  that  Biznet 
had  signed  a  contract  which  made  him  the  con- 
ductor of  a  new  orchestra  under  Mr.  Liebermann's 
management.  He  said  nothing  discouraging,  to  be 
sure,  confining  his  observations  to  the  single  mono- 
syllable, "  Ach !" 

It  seemed  odd  to  be  planning  his  return.  But 
for  the  quarterly  arrival  of  money  from  Miss 
Tracy,  Cosmos  had  become  an  immaterial  place, 
so  distant  as  to  be  practically  non-existent,  like 
Mars.  He  sometimes  wondered  if  he  could  ever 
repay  Miss  Tracy,  and  if  she  really  expected  him 
to  do  so ;  but  he  spent  all  the  money  she  sent, 
and  said  little  about  the  fact  that  he  made  a  third 
more  from  his  pupils.  He  could  have  lived  en- 
tirely by  his  own  efforts  had  he  chosen ;  but  it 
takes  a  rather  stronger  moral  sense  than  he  pos- 
sessed to  say,  "  Get  thee  behind  me !  "  to  unearned 
increment. 

Kitty  had  not  been  a  good  correspondent,  and 
her  letters  had  been  prim  little  notes  inclosed  in 
Miss  Tracy's ;  but  one  day  there  came  a  plethoric 
envelope  in  Kitty's  handwriting.  He  tried  to  im- 
agine, as  he  slit  the  envelope,  how  she  probably 
looked,  these  days,  in  long  dresses  and  with  her 
hair  put  up.  "  Pretty,  I  '11  bet.  Wonder  if  she 
and  Billy  will  make  a  match  of  it  ?  Only  she 's  a 
damn  sight  too  good  for  him.  Hello !  "  — 


120  ROMAN  BIZNET 

An  unmounted  print  fell  out  of  the  envelope. 
She  was  pretty,  but  thin,  and  her  hair  top-heavy 
in  contrast  to  her  childish  chin.  And  how  big 
her  eyes  were  !  She  held  her  head  with  its  charac- 
teristic droop,  and  looked  up  as  of  old  under  her 
lashes.  The  neck  of  her  gown  was  low,  and  evi- 
dently the  photographer  had  touched  out  hollows 
and  cords  at  the  throat. 

DEAR  ROMY, —  This  letter  is  just  from  me  to 
you.  Miss  Tracy  always  wants  me  to  show  her 
what  I  write ;  but  I  'm  not  going  to  this  time. 
I;'ve  been  thinking  a  long  time  about  what  I  ought 
to  do.  Dr.  Winthrop  is  the  only  one  I  can  talk 
to  much,  and  I  don't  like  to  worry  him.  He  seems 
to  blame  himself  for  letting  Miss  Tracy  have  me. 
I  don't  see  why,  I  'm  sure.  She  has  always  been 
very  kind. 

I  think  maybe  I  'm  not  very  well,  and  that  is 
why  I  'm  so  stupid.  I  am  going  to  the  Normal 
School,  you  know.  They  thought  I  could  learn 
to  teach  and  be  independent,  and  I  was  glad  to 
think  I  might  be  able  to  pay  Miss  Tracy  some 
time.  Of  course  in  your  case,  as  she  says,  you  're 
a  genius,  and  spending  money  on  your  education 
is  like  endowing  a  college,  or  something  like  that, 
—  it 's  giving  something  to  the  world.  But  with 
me,  —  of  course  she  does  n't  say  this,  but  I  under- 
stand, —  I  'm  only  a  little  French  girl  from  the 
Hollow ;  and  I  would  have  worked  in  the  factory 
or  gone  out  to  service  if  it  had  n't  been  for  her 
kindness.  I  used  to  hope  that  she  would  grow 


"GIVEN  TO  THE  WORLD"  121 

fond  of  me ;  but  there  is  something  —  I  suppose 
my  stupidity. 

But  some  way  I  don't  get  on  in  the  Normal. 
I  was  all  right  until  it  came  to  Methods.  In 
Methods,  you  know,  you  have  to  plan  exactly  what 
the  teacher  must  ask  to  get  the  right  answer  from 
the  child  without  directly  suggesting  the  answers. 

I  've  been  flunked  twice  in  Primary  Methods  and 
once  in  Language  Methods.  Geography  Methods 
is  the  only  one  I  was  n't  flunked  in.  And  next 
semester  comes  Arithmetic  Methods,  and  then  I 
shall  certainly  die ! 

Miss  Tracy  says  I  don't  study.  But  oh,  Homy, 
if  you  knew  how  hard  I've  tried  —  [The  Spen- 
cerian  chirography  was  uneven  here,  and  a  blot 
had  been  carefully  erased.] 

I  know  perfectly  well  that  I  never  can  get 
through  ;  and  if  I  did,  I  could  n't  teach.  Children 
don't  mind  me ;  they  just  won't  do  it.  And  the 
Model  teachers  get  so  cross  !  —  as  if  I  would  n't  do 
better  if  I  could. 

And  Billy  tries  to  help  me  when  he  comes  home, 
but  they  don't  like  to  have  him.  And  he  does  n't 
help  much,  anyway,  —  just  sits  around  and  makes 
fun  of  the  Methods,  and  tells  me  I  don't  want  to 
teach.  Well,  I  don't.  But  what  then  ?  Billy  is 
part  of  my  puzzle,  Romy,  —  I  can't  say  more  than 
that.  I  wonder  what  makes  men  act  so,  anyway  ? 

And  I  've  been  thinking  of  everything  I  could 
do  instead  of  teaching,  and  there  does  n't  seem  to 
be  anything  but  housework.  I  'm  good  at  that ; 
I  'm  better  at  that  than  Bess  Heathway  is,  —  /can 


122  ROMAN  BIZNET 

keep  mended  up,  and  she  can't ;  and  I  put  up  six 
dozen  glasses  of  currant  jelly  last  fall.  I  make  all 
my  own  clothes,  too.  But  try  as  I  may  to  econo- 
mize and  not  be  a  burden  —  oh,  well,  I  don't  mean 
to  complain  about  it ;  and  it 's  nobody's  fault  but 
mine,  because  I  'm  stupid. 

But  what  I  was  wondering  was  this:  If  you 
come  home  next  spring,  and  then  if  you  live  in 
New  York  the  next  winter,  why  could  n't  I  keep 
house  for  you  ?  I  could  make  it  cost  less,  I  'm  sure, 
than  just  your  board  would  be.  It 's  just  the  same 
as  if  we  were  really  brother  and  sister,  and  you  're 
all  I  've  got.  I  don't  want  to  be  a  bother  to  any- 
body, and  this  is  the  only  way  I  can  think  of  to  be 
really  useful. 

Billy  has  two  new  dogs;  they  are  only  half 
grown.  Adlor  says  they  are  n't  the  right  sort  for 
Adirondack  hunting.  Did  you  know  that  Adlor 
is  our  coachman  now  ?  And  Billy  says  they  're  all 
right  to  take  when  you  go  fishing.  Of  course  he  's 
joking  when  he  says  that.  Bess  Heathway  has 
done  her  four  college  years  in  three,  —  which  is 
considered  wonderful.  What  would  n't  I  give  for 
about  a  teaspoonful  of  her  brains  ! 

Miss  Maud  Tracy  is  with  us  all  the  time  now. 
We  are  all  well ;  and  if  they  knew  I  was  writing, 
they  would  send  their  love. 

Your  affectionate  sister,  KITTY. 

Roman  Biznet,  having  read,  found  a  place  among 
the  steins  for  Kitty's  picture.  The  finding  a  place 
consisted  largely  in  the  ejection  of  other  photo- 


"GIVEN    TO  THE  WORLD"  123 

graphs,  tightly  corseted  women,  more  or  less 
lightly  clad. 

"  Who 's  that  ? "  asked  Baumgarten,  when  he 
had  rescued  the  discarded  ladies  from  the  coal 
scuttle.  > 

"  The  girl  I  'm  going  to  marry,"  said  Biznet 
grimly. 

"  Oh !  Looks  so  much  like  you  I  thought  it  must 
be  your  sister." 

"  You  think  too  much  !  " 

His  letter  to  Kitty  was  as  follows,  and  his  inten- 
tions were  really  too  good  to  be  used  as  paving- 
stones  for  the  road  to  a  certain  place.  Biznet 
meant  as  well  as  though  his  skull  were  formed  on 
moral  lines.  He  addressed  the  letter  to  Bess 
Heathway  outside. 

DEAR  PUSSY,  —  Don't  you  care !  I  'm  com- 
ing home  the  last  of  May,  noble  and  famous,  to 
paint  Cosmos  red,  and  kill  all  the  Normal  School 
teachers  that  flunked  you,  and  the  children  that 
would  n't  mind.  Tell  them  that.  Tell  them  that 
no  one  can  be  mean  to  a  Big  Injun's  squaw  and 
live. 

Homy  is  It !  There  's  a  chap  from  New  York, 
by  the  name  of  Liebermann,  has  been  snooping 
around  here  for  a  brand  new  conductor  for  a  brand 
new  orchestra  to  make  a  brand  new  popular  hit. 
You  will  see  me  make  that  hit  next  winter,  and 
there  '11  be  money  to  burn. 

I  would  n't  say  anything  to  anybody  else  about 
your  housekeeping  idea.  It  is  a  good  one,  but 


124  ROMAN  BIZNET 

needs  a  few  amendments  which  I  think  I  can  sup- 
ply when  we  come  to  talk  it  over.  So  keep  your 
hair  on.  What  a  lot  of  it  you  've  got,  by  the  way ! 
And  wait  for  Homy  to  fish  you  out  of  the  soup. 

You  will  please  excuse  the  slang.  There 's  an 
old  fellow  here  by  the  name  of  Zukoffsky  who  fairly 
lives  on  it.  He  calls  it  Philology.  Sometimes  I 
have  to  make  np  things  to  please  him.  If  you 
know  any  new  slang  I  wish  you  would  send  me 
some.  I  know  mine  is  out  of  date. 

Affectionately,  ROMAN  BIZNET. 

To  Bess  he  wrote  :  — 

MY  DEAE  Miss  HEATHWAY,  —  Is  it  tres- 
passing too  much  on  your  good  nature  to  ask  you 
to  give  the  inclosed  letter  to  my  cousin  ?  I  un- 
derstand she  is  expected  to  show  my  letters  to  the 
family,  and  this  one  concerns  a  matter  which 
interests  her  alone. 

I  hear  you  have  finished  your  college  course  in 
three  years  !  Will  you  accept  my  heartiest  con- 
gratulations, also  envy?  But  it  makes  me  feel 
rather  scared  when  I  think  of  meeting  so  much 
intellect  again,  as  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  do- 
ing in  about  a  month. 

Most  sincerely  yours,       ROMAN  BIZNET. 

Then  he  put  the  letters  in  his  pocket,  where  they 
remained.  He  left  the  coat  behind  him  when  he 
sailed,  and  the  conscientious  Baumgarten  mailed 
them  on  the  next  steamer — a  month  after  they 
were  written. 


CHAPTER  II 
BEHIND  THE   WISTARIA  VINE 

COSMOS  schools  close  on  the  last  day  of  June. 
During  that  month  good  little  girls  are  sentimental 
about  parting  from  their  teachers  for  ten  weeks, 
conceiving  that  those  persons  of  curious  tastes  must 
miss  them  greatly  during  the  summer,  and  yearn 
for  the  reopening  of  school.  What  else  can  one 
think  after  watching  their  behavior  through  the 
year,  their  enthusiastic  punctuality,  their  animated 
manner  of  imparting  uninteresting  facts,  the  vari- 
ous tricks  they  resort  to  in  order  to  persuade  chil- 
dren to  learn  a  thing  ?  One  does  what  one  likes 
when  one  grows  up.  Teachers  must  like  teaching 
as  well  as  little  girls  like  playing  with  dolls,  and 
it  seems  reasonable,  too  —  standing  up  in  front  of 
a  class  and  waving  a  pointer  about  and  selecting 
little  boys  to  erase  the  blackboard,  and  having 
things  your  own  way  generally.  When  Gladys 
Wells  and  Bessie  Heathway  and  Roman  Biznet 
used  to  attend  school,  teachers  even  smacked 
naughty  children  on  the  fingers.  But  the  new 
Normal  School,  where  their  little  brothers  and 
sisters  went,  had  changed  all  that,  pupils  and 
pupil-teachers  being  on  an  equality  wherein  the 
pupil-teachers  were  only  kept  from  becoming  infe- 
riors by  the  protection  afforded  them  by  heads  of 


126  ROMAN  BIZNET 

departments.  Nobody  was  ever  smacked  now,  and 
yet  —  it  seemed  a  dull,  modern  way  of  doing  things ; 
there  must  have  been  romance  in  the  danger  of  a 
licking,  and  where  was  the  use  of  wicked  daring, 
bringing  frogs  and  beetles  to  school  in  your  pock- 
ets, throwing  spots  of  sunlight  about  with  little 
mirrors,  pulling  the  girls'  hair,  if  one  could  get 
nothing  but  a  talking-to  from  a  head  of  depart- 
ment, which  was  apt  to  make  one  cry  and  feel 
silly.  But  that  was  the  masculine  view  point, 
—  boys  not  having  any  particular  sympathy  for 
teachers. 

Tudy  Wells  gave  the  impression  that  her  older 
sister  Gladys  had  dwindled,  taken  to  wearing  her 
hair  in  braids,  and  blossomed  out  in  very  short 
pink  petticoats.  Tudy's  intimate  friend  at  school 
was  Molly  Santwire,  sister  to  that  Adlor  Santwire 
who  had  once  seen  a  loup-garou,  and  who  was  now 
become  the  Tracy  coachman ;  but  this  friendship 
had  to  be  indulged  in  secretly,  Molly  being  a 
French  Catholic  young  one,  while  Tudy  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Presbyterian  minister.  In  the 
"  School  of  Practice  "  Miss  Kitty  Conto  was  their 
music  -  teacher  —  poor  Kitty  !  who  never  could 
sound  with  her  voice  quite  the  same  note  as  that 
struck  by  the  tuning  fork,  and  got  into  much 
trouble  thereby  from  the  criticisms  of  her  class- 
mates, whose  business  it  was  to  sit  in  the  back  of 
the  room  and  "  observe  "  her  failings,  take  notes 
thereon,  and  make  out  as  bad  a  case  as  they  could 
to  the  Model  teacher,  who  frequently  came  in, 
looking  bored,  and  took  the  class  away  from  her, 


BEHIND  THE  WISTARIA  VINE  127 

but  who  somehow  understood  Kitty,  music,  and 
human  limitations  generally  so  that  on  the  Day  of 
Judgment  Kitty  was  marked  just  high  enough  to 
pass,  though  it  made  little  difference  in  the  end, 
and  Kitty  did  not  care. 

Tudy  and  Molly  could  take  the  pitch  from  the 
tuning  fork  very  well,  however,  and  always  did  so 
with  all  the  strength  of  their  raucous  little  voices, 
being  fond  of  Miss  Conto  in  a  motherly  way,  and 
anxious  to  help  her  out.  There  was  a  little  song 
she  was  trying  to  teach  them.  They  were  to  sing 
it  on  the  great  last  day,  and  these  benevolent  two 
would  get  together  in  odd  corners  and  practice, 
determined  that  it  should  not  be  their  fault  if  the 
programme  faltered  in  that  part  for  which  Miss 
Conto  was  responsible.  The  song  consisted  chiefly 
of  a  heavy,  sing-song  refrain,  "We  know  not 
why !  "  It  rhymed  variously  with  butterfly,  sky, 
high,  and  die,  there  being  four  stanzas,  and  implied 
that  the  writer  of  it  found  something  to  puzzle 
him  in  all  that  these  words  suggest.  From  fre- 
quent repetition  Tudy  and  Molly  also  became 
aware  of  some  lurking  puzzle  in  the  universe,  and 
practiced  with  a  wealth  of  expression  which  con- 
vulsed Dr.  Winthrop  as  the  sounds  came  out  of 
some  hollow  place  in  the  hedge,  but  rendered  Miss 
Maud  Tracy,  whose  ear  was  sensitive,  extremely 
nervous. 

"  We  know  not  why, 
We  know  not  why,  not  why  "  — 

"  I  believe  I  '11  stop  them,"  said  Maud  between 
a  frown  and  a  smile. 


128  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  But  soon  you  '11  die, 
Poor  butterfly !  " 

"  We  know  not  why,"  hummed  Miss  Tracy. 
"  The  worst  of  those  wretched  little  tunes  is  that 
they  get  into  one's  head  so,  and  buzz  there  like  a 
fly  behind  a  pane  of  glass.  But  don't  stop  them, 
they  are  practicing  for  Kitty,  I  believe,  and  I  sup- 
pose the  better  they  can  do,  the  better  it  will  be  for 
her."  She  spoke  with  some  impatience,  and  sighed. 

"  We  know  not  why,"  sang  the  harsh  little  voices 
in  the  hedge,  as  tuneless  as  locusts.  But  to  Dr. 
Winthrop,  who  sat  in  his  garden  chair  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge,  smoked,  and  felt  that  he  was  a 
spectator  only  of  the  droning  green  summer,  the 
passing  people,  and  the  passing  clouds,  there  seemed 
a  certain  appropriateness  in  this  little  insect  tune 
from  the  hedge,  as  if  it  voiced  the  ignorance  of  a 
young  and  puzzled  planetful  of  creatures  better 
than  the  same  sentiment  lamented  over  by  a  skilled 
orchestra,  or  a  mighty-lunged  and  tender-throated 
singer. 

There  are  some  hearts  so  curiously  constructed 
as  to  have  but  a  single  compartment,  with  room 
for  but  a  single  idol.  If  a  newer  and  prettier  idol 
appears,  the  old  must  come  down  forthwith.  Some 
little  girls,  if  offered  a  new  wax  doll  in  exchange 
for  the  grimy  remnant  from  a  previous  Christmas, 
will  keep  the  grimy  remnant ;  others  will  throw  it 
aside  for  fresh  paint,  curled  hair,  a  body  stiff  with 
sawdust.  Every  one  knows,  too,  how  cats  lose  all 
interest  in  their  kittens,  when  kittens  no  longer. 


BEHIND  THE  WISTARIA  VINE  129 

New  kittens,  new  dolls,  and  sometimes  new  human 
beings,  are  certainly  desirable. 

The  Lord  had  finally  thought  best  to  bring  home 
Miss  Maud  Tracy  from  abroad,  and  settle  her  at 
her  aunt's.  The  Lord  had  also  softened  Miss 
Emily  Tracy's  heart  toward  her  niece.  Neither 
of  them  understood  how  they  could  have  done  with- 
out each  other  all  these  years.  They  vied  in  find- 
ing pet  names  for  each  other,  and  talked  everlast- 
ing "  baby  talk,"  a  vice  to  which  many  good  and 
otherwise  intelligent  people  are  prone.  Miss  Maud 
Tracy,  tall,  dignified,  with  features  generally  de- 
scribed as  "  classic,"  became  "  P'essus "  in  her 
aunt's  vocabulary,  and  Miss  Emily  Tracy  was 
"Dearie"  or  its  equivalent  in  other  languages 
when  Miss  Maud  wished  to  indicate  that  she  had 
been  abroad,  and  talked  several  languages. 

In  the  years  that  had  passed  since  Alphonsine's 
murder,  a  wistaria  vine  had  grown  from  incon- 
spicuous childhood  to  spreading  maturity,  cover- 
ing one  end  of  the  Tracy  veranda  and  making  it 
a  bower  whence  one  could  watch  the  street  and  the 
neighboring  grounds,  one's  self  unseen. 

It  was  a  restful  place,  much  loved  by  Miss 
Emily  Tracy  and  her  niece,  who  here  embroidered, 
mended,  talked,  or  read  Browning  together  the 
summer  through.  It  was  the  middle  of  June. 
Roman  Biznet  was  expected  soon,  though  he  was 
to  stay  for  a  while  at  Long  Branch  with  his  man- 
ager, Liebermann.  Miss  Tracy  had  been  rather 
disturbed  that  morning  at  hearing  from  Mrs.  Heath- 
way,  who  had  it  from  Mrs.  Wells,  who  had  learned 


130  ROMAN  BIZNET 

it  from  her  son  Benny,  whose  classmate,  a  "  theo- 
log,"  had  visited  Roman  Biznet  on  his  journey  to 
the  Holy  Land,  tfyat  the  deceiving  genius  had  been 
making  money  enough  from  pupils  for  the  past 
two  years  to  have  supported  himself  easily,  had  he 
chosen,  without  using  the  money  Miss  Tracy  sent 
him. 

"  Well,  Dearie,"  said  Maud,  yawning  classically 
behind  her  large  white  hand,  "  is  n't  there  a  say- 
ing in  this  part  of  the  world  that  all  honest  French- 
men have  wool  in  the  palms  of  their  hands  ?  You 
did  n't  expect  him  to  grow  any  wool  while  he  was 
abroad,  did  you  ?  " 

"Look  at  these  stockings,"  was  Miss  Tracy's 
unanswerable  argument.  "  They  are  darned  until 
you  can't  see  the  original  fibre  —  in  some  places 
—  and  I  have  done  it  all  willingly,  gladly,  for  the 
sake  of  that  boy.  I  have  been  giving  him  to  the 
world,  as  one  gives  a  church  or  a  school."  She 
had  said  this  so  many  times  that  it  was  as  thread- 
bare as  the  stocking  she  held  up. 

"  Well,"  said  Maud,  "  you  have  your  reward. 
He  will  be  famous.  One  cannot  expect  everything, 
even  honesty,  from  genius." 

" No,"  answered  Miss  Tracy,  " but  I  am  done" 
She  bit  off  a  thread  of  black  floss  with  a  finality 
there  was  no  gainsaying.  "  I  have  made  my  sac- 
rifice. And  in  those  first  years  I  sacrificed  you, 
P'essus,  without  realizing  it.  But  you  have  for- 
given me,  and  now  you  and  I  are  going  to  be  happy 
together." 

"  I  've  been  wanting  to  speak  to  you  about 
Kitty,"  said  Maud. 


BEHIND  THE  WISTAKIA  VINE  131 

"  Kitty  means  well,"  said  Miss  Tracy. 

"  Y-yes.  Do  you  feel  that  you  quite  understand 
her?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Just  how  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  daresay  I'm  mistaken,  but  I  had  an  idea 
the  other  day.  It  would  be  awkward  "  — 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  unkind  to  the  child, 
or  unjust  —  and  I  did  n't  want  to  worry  you  "  — 

"  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense !  " 

"  Kitty  may  have  no  intention  whatever  of  be- 
coming a  teacher.  That  may  be  why  she  takes  so 
little  interest  in  her  studies." 

«  But "  — 

"  My  small  brother  is,  unfortunately,  fond  of 
pretty  faces  and  little  appealing  women.  He  is 
also,  to  use  his  own  frightful  slang, '  well-heeled.' ' 

"  But  he  's  been  away.  They  have  n't  seen  each 
other  except  at  vacation  time." 

"  But  he  is  back,  now,  graduated,  and  I  heard 
him  saying  something  yesterday  about  '  settling 
down.'  He  said  it  to  her." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  That  it  would  be  nice,  and  that  New  York  must 
be  a  nice  place  to  live  in." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  And  then  I  turned  the  corner,  and  remarked 
that  it  was  a  pleasant  afternoon.  Billy's  face  was 
as  red  as  this  embroidery  silk,  and  hers  was  as 
white  as  this  !  " 

"  Oh ! " 

"  It  would  be  something  of  a  mesalliance,  don't 
you  think?" 


132  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Impossible !  What  have  I  done  !  " 
"  Don't  worry,  though,  Cherie ;  as  you  say,  I 
have  some  influence  over  Billy.  We  won't  let  him 
make  any  mistakes,  will  we?  Here  they  come! 
What  did  I  tell  you  ?  Look  at  the  angle  at  which 
he  holds  her  parasol,  and  those  books  of  hers  under 
his  arm.  They  may  be  '  brother  and  sister,'  but 
I'm  his  sister,  and  he  never  takes  that  attitude 
when  he  walks  with  me." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  " 

"  If  they  only  knew  how  silly  they  look  to- 
gether !  He  's  twice  too  big  for  such  a  midget  as 
that." 

The  two  came  up  the  hill  slowly.  It  might  have 
been  because  Kitty  was  languid  and  ill.  Maud 
insisted  that  it  was  the  lovers'  stroll.  Kitty's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  green  screen  of  wistaria  behind 
which  the  two  women  sat.  Billy  was  as  handsome 
as  young  men  grow  when  their  bodies  become  re- 
ligion to  them.  His  face  had  been  sweet  and  hon- 
est when  he  was  a  little  boy.  One  could  say  little 
more  for  it  now,  except  that  it  held  possibilities, 
when  the  boy  should  have  become  more  of  a  man. 
A  little  trouble  and  disappointment  would  do  won- 
ders in  that  direction. 

"  Hello  !  "  he  said,  closing  the  red  sunshade  as 
they  mounted  the  steps.  "  You  hide  away  in  there 
as  snug  as  a  couple  of  bugs  in  a  rug." 

"  Some  people  might  choose  more  elegant  sim- 
iles," said  Maud.  Kitty  went  upstairs  with  her 
books. 

"  Or  spiders.     The  modern  Arachne,  or  Clotho, 


BEHIND  THE  WISTARIA  VINE  133 

maybe,"  —  he  took  up  a  bunch  of  his  sister's  floss, 
— "  who  does  n't  spin,  nor  toil,  particularly,  but 
embroiders,  and  weaves,  and  designs  destinies  in 
purple  and  pink.  Is  that  for  me  ?  I  'd  rather 
have  a  blue  silk  cushion  with  a  white  Y.  I  lost 
that  one  you  gave  me.  —  Oh,  I  forgot  —  letter 
from  Bizzy." 

"  What  an  odd  handwriting,"  said  Maud,  taking 
it  to  pass  to  Miss  Tracy. 

"  It 's  just  like  him,  though,"  said  Billy.  "  Kind 
of  joggly  and  sprawly  —  slants  over  too  far,  and 
all  the  letters  have  too  long  tails,  and  the  tails 
can't  make  up  their  minds  to  any  particular  slant." 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  read  character  from  writ- 
ing?" ' 

"  Oh,  no.     I  don't  know." 

"  It  is  as  good  as  yours." 

"  Here 's  the  handwriting  for  you  !  "  said  Billy, 
with  sudden  enthusiasm,  and  pulled  out  a  normal 
school  exercise  paper  of  Latin  sentences,  in  a 
painful  Spencerian  hand,  with  much  careful  punc- 
tuation, and  many  errors. 

"  I  'm  going  to  coach  her,"  he  explained.  "  Holy 
Moses  !  what  work  she  makes  of  it ! "  But  his 
tone  suggested  affectionate  admiration  for  the  mis- 
takes. 

Miss  Tracy  and  her  niece  exchanged  glances 
while  Billy  lit  a  pipe  and  went  around  to  the  gar- 
den, taking  a  Latin  grammar  with  which  to  freshen 
his  own  memory. 

"  He  's  going  to  coach  her  !  "  said  Maud.  — 
"  And  what  does  lionian  Biznet  say  ?  " 


134  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  He  will  be  here  next  week.  —  There  comes 
Bessie.  How  untidy  she  is  !  If  it  were  n't  for  that, 
I  should  say  that  Billy  might  do  worse  than  to  — 
How  do  you  do,  dear  ?  Kitty  is  upstairs,  I  think. 
"Wait  a  minute,  until  I  take  a  few  stitches  in  your 
skirt-binding.  You  might  trip  and  be  badly  hurt." 

"  I  'm  frightfully  careless,  I  know.  I  hear 
Rome  is  coming  back  soon.  I  don't  know  what 
the  town  will  do  with  such  a  celebrity." 

Elizabeth  had  grown  to  a  generous  figure  which 
might  become  heavy  at  middle  age.  She  wore  her 
clothes  with  something  of  the  careless  nonchalance 
with  which  a  statue  wears  drapery.  The  effect 
was  considered  sloppy,  but  Elizabeth  was  rather 
pretty,  and  had  gained  all  sorts  of  honors  at  col- 
lege. Her  forehead  might  be  top-heavy,  and  there 
was  a  little  crease  between  her  eyebrows,  but  one 
liked  to  look  at  her  eyes.  They  were  difficult  eyes 
to  meet,  however,  looking  at  one  rather  too  squarely 
and  steadily  for  comfort. 

"  Well,  Kitty,  here 's  your  letter,"  said  Bess  in 
a  tone  of  strong  disapproval.  "  Of  course  I  do  as 
I  am  asked,  but  I  don't  see  why  you  need  be  so 
underhanded  about  a  letter  from  Rome." 

Kitty  took  the  letter,  looking  subdued  and  un- 
happy. "  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  mind,"  she  said. 
"There  were  some  things  I  wanted  to  ask  him 
about  that  they  'd  have  thought  queer." 

"  But  you  would  n't  have  to  show  them  his  let- 
ters ! "  said  Bess.  She  was  a  young  woman  so 
singularly  her  own  mistress  in  every  matter  that 
she  could  not  understand  a  different  state  of  affairs. 


BEHIND  THE  WISTARIA  VINE  135 

"  They  'd  think  it  queer,  if  I  did  n't,"  said 
Kitty.  "  There  is  n't  anything  wrong  about  it. 
I  was  only  so  worried  about  ray  Normal  work,  and 
I  wrote  to  ask  him  what  I  should  do  if  I  failed. 
This  has  been  examination  day,  and  I  know  I 
did  n't  get  through.  I  've  failed  once  already, 
you  know,  and  there 's  still  another  year.  I  can't 
get  to  be  a  Senior,  somehow.  You  're  so  bright  I 
suppose  you  think  I'm  just  lazy.  May  I  read  my 
letter  ?  Why  !  It  was  written  a  month  ago  — 
and  I  've  wanted  it  so  !  " 

Her  eyes  were  brighter  when  she  had  finished  it, 
and  she  hummed  a  tuneless  little  song  as  she  care- 
fully put  it  back  in  its  envelope  and  looked  medi- 
tatively about  as  if  for  a  place  of  concealment. 

"  Why,  you  foxy  little  thing  !  "  exclaimed  Bess 
disgustedly.  "  I  hate  deceit.  They  would  n't 
prowl  around  and  read  your  private  letters." 

"  Wait  till  you  're  adopted,"  said  Kitty,  still 
humming  happily.  "  I  have  to  be  very  careful 
not  to  be  misunderstood.  I  said  the  other  day 
when  Miss  Maud  was  playing  the  piano  that  I 
wished  I  knew  how,  and  they  thought  I  was  com- 
plaining because  I  had  n't  been  taught  music,  and 
hinting  that  I  wanted  lessons." 

"  Nonsense,  you  are  too  sensitive." 

"  Am  I  ?  Maybe.  But  I  know  they  're  tired 
of  me.  And  they  think  I  'm  bad.  I  don't  know 
just  how.  But  they  watch  me  out  of  the  sides  of 
their  eyes.  Miss  Tracy  used  to  like  me  well  enough 
before  Miss  Maud  came." 

"  Billy  likes  you  well  enough,"  said  Elizabeth 
meaningly. 


136  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Oh !  Billy.  He  does  n't  count,"  said  Kitty 
with  a  cheerless  laugh.  She  had  finally  pinned 
Rome's  letter  securely  inside  her  dress  and  sat 
down  by  the  window  frowning  abstractedly  at 
the  garden.  "  There 's  Billy  studying  my  Latin 
grammar,"  she  laughed ;  "  he  thinks  he  's  going  to 
coach  me  this  summer  so  that  I  can  get  through 
next  year." 

Bess  picked  up  a  photograph  from  Kitty's  dress- 
ing-table. It  was  a  very  German  picture  of  Rome 
with  his  'cello.  "  It  seems  odd  to  think  of  Rome 
as  grown  up,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  if  he  and  I 
will  fight  as  fiercely  as  we  did  in  the  high  school." 

"  I  remember,"  smiled  Kitty ;  "  sometimes  for 
about  ten  minutes  you  'd  perfectly  love  each  other 
and  he  'd  send  me  away  because  I  was  too  little  to 
play  your  games.  But  I  'd  sit  down  and  wait  till 
you  slapped  his  face,  and  he  would  come  back  to 
me,  his  eyes  all  red  inside  the  black,  and  swearing 
French  that  you  could  n't  understand.  Remem- 
ber the  time  he  and  Billy  and  you  and  I  all  played 
tag,  while  a  thunderstorm  was  coming  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Bess  doubtfully.  Then 
she  blushed.  "  Oh,  yon  mean  "  — 

"  That  time  he  kissed  you  —  yes.  How  mad 
you  were  !  He  wore  court-plaster  on  his  cheek  for 
a  week,  and  I  put  witch-hazel  on  his  head  where 
the  hair  came  out." 

"  How  dreadful !     I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Oh,  but  I  did.  I  wonder  how  you  and  he  will 
get  along  now.  I  shall  enjoy  watching." 


CHAPTER  m 
A  CHOP  OF  DANDELIONS 

IT  was  a  cool  sweet  morning,  well  washed  by  a 
rainy  night.  The  train  that  brought  Biznet  came 
into  it  dusty  and  unclean  with  the  savor  of  a  hot 
yesterday  in  New  York  about  it,  and  took  its  noisy 
drink,  in  the  middle  of  the  far-reaching  silence  of 
that  region,  in  which  human  beings,  birds,  insects, 
church  bells  make  but  little  stir  at  any  time.  St. 
Mary's  Church  was  tinkling  for  early  mass  like  a 
bell-wether,  and  Sunday  lay  upon  the  land. 

Roman  Biznet,  the  only  passenger  for  Cosmos, 
looked  about  him  with  delight  as  he  stood  by  his 
luggage  on  the  deserted  platform.  Down  the  yel- 
low winding  road  he  could  see  the  Tracy  carriage 
approaching  at  a  rapid  trot.  They  had  counted 
on  the  train  being  late  as  usual,  whereas  it  was, 
for  once,  on  time. 

Feeling  that  he  was  watched,  he  turned  to  meet 
the  very  bright  eyes  of  a  small  French  boy,  who 
carried  a  formidable  whip,  and  evidently  belonged 
to  a  cow  at  that  moment  strolling  across  the  track. 
—  "  Hello,  Bub,  what 's  your  name  ?  "  doubting 
somewhat  whether  this  might  not  be  his  former 
Self  thus  greeting  him  at  the  town's  threshold, 
not  altogether  approving  him.  His  former  Self 
had  once  worn  just  such  flapping  and  torn  straw 


138  KOMAN  BIZNET 

hats,  had  been  barelegged  and  colored  by  the  soil, 
but  with  a  rather  clean  little  soul  inside.  He 
blinked  uneasily  under  the  child's  stare.  If  the 
youngster  had  claimed  the  name  "  Roman  Biznet," 
Rome  felt  that  he  would  have  yielded  the  point 
courteously  and  returned  upon  the  next  train,  a 
new  King  Robert  of  Sicily. 

"  Napoleon  Orleana.     Wat 's  yours  ?  " 

"  Me,  I  'm  Roman  Biznet,"  he  replied  with  the 
twang  of  his  youth,  and  gave  the  child  a  left-over 
fifty  pfennig  piece. 

He  had  not  thought  to  be  so  glad  to  see  Cosmos 
again,  and  wondered  if  it  might  not  have  been 
simple  nostalgia  that  had  ailed  him  abroad. 

"  Hello,  Adlor !  "  That  model  servant  put  a 
finger  to  his  forehead  in  most  approved  fashion, 
but  there  was  a  wide  grin  of  equality  upon  his 
face. 

"  Seen  any  loups-garoux  lately  ?  "  asked  Rome, 
when  the  boxes,  with  their  many  foreign  labels, 
had  been  piled  behind  and  they  were  under  way  to 
the  Tracy  house.  Adlor's  blue  flannel  shoulders 
shrugged  in  uncoachrnan-like  style,  and  he  wag- 
gled one  ear,  an  accomplishment  for  which  he  had 
been  famous  in  the  days  that  were  gone. 

"  Not  till  now,"  he  answered  quietly. 

Billy  met  the  carriage  halfway  on  his  bicycle 
and  acted  as  outrider.  Miss  Tracy  stood  upon 
the  veranda  with  outstretched  hands  and  a  some- 
what pathetic  smile,  —  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes  and  she  did  not  speak,  but  looked  at  him 
very  earnestly  and  questioningly.  He  had  grown 


A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS  139 

handsome,  she  thought  —  this  strange  toy  of  hers. 
Now  he  was  a  toy  no  longer ;  other  and  more 
skillful  hands  had  had  the  making  of  him.  He 
kissed  her  hand  in  a  foreign  way,  and  then  her 
withered  cheek.  Some  dormant  youthful  instinct 
brought  bright  young  color  to  her  face  and  made 
her  draw  back  shyly. 

"  You  have  improved,"  she  said  rather  stiffly, 
and  introduced  him  to  Maud,  who  just  then 
emerged  from  the  shadows  of  the  hall. 

Her  greeting  was  cordial  and  easy,  and  he 
smiled  at  her,  serenely,  but  there  was  an  ill-tem- 
pered line  between  his  eyebrows,  and  his  hand  was 
lax  as  it  touched  hers. 

"  And  Kitty  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  was  coming  down  the  stairs,  with  light, 
slow  step,  for  it  was  ill-bred  to  be  in  haste,  to  put 
one's  self  forward  in  any  matter  whatever.  But 
brushing  rudely  past  the  others,  he  met  her  half- 
way up  the  stairs,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  his  neck 
and  cried  quietly,  whispering  under  her  breath: 
"  I  thought  you  would  never  come.  I  —  I  failed 
at  the  Normal  —  I  knew  I  should  —  you  must  take 
me  away  —  I  —  I"  — 

"Why,  Kitty!  The  child  is  nervous,"  said 
Miss  Tracy  in  an  annoyed  tone.  Rome,  turning 
slightly  toward  the  group  below,  noticed  Billy's 
face,  as  black  as  a  thundercloud,  and  Maud  smiling 
queerly.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  watching 
everybody,  like  something  hidden  among  jungle 
grasses  and  peering  out,  itself  unperceived.  It  oc- 
curred to  him  that  she  was  rather  worth  watching 


140  ROMAN  BIZNET 

herself.  Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant.  She  raised 
her  eyebrows  ever  so  slightly  and  strolled  back  to 
the  veranda. 

But  Kitty  grew  suddenly  gay  after  a  moment's 
gusty  weeping.  It  never  took  much  at  any  time 
to  arouse  happiness  in  her,  and  still  less  to  quench 
it;  as  a  firefly  lets  flare  his  rocket,  and  shivers 
into  darkness  again.  But  a  firefly  can  use  his  gay 
little  fireworks  for  protection  also,  and  if  you 
catch  him  and  handle  him  roughly,  he  sometimes 
runs  off  into  obscurity,  leaving  his  lantern  shining 
brightly  in  your  hand.  Doubtless  his  heart  is 
broken  for  its  loss,  for  Nature  has  no  more  to  give 
him,  so  far  as  I  know. 

Rome  led  her  back  upstairs,  and  they  sat  down 
in  a  recess  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

"  And  are  you  really  so  glad  to  see  your  little 
sister  again  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  moist  smile.  "  It 's 
so  nice  to  be  liked.  Most  people  don't  like  me.  I 
don't  know  why." 

"  Most  people  are  jackasses." 

"Isn't  that  a  swear  word?  They're  so  par- 
ticular here  about  slang.  Miss  Maud  "  — 

"  Where  are  the  red  cheeks  you  used  to  have  ?  " 

"  You  've  got  them,  I  guess.  You  are  n't  nearly 
so  much  of  an  Injun  as  you  were.  And  what 
funny  clothes  you  wear !  You  look  like  a  German 
Jew." 

"  Men  have  been  killed  for  smaller  insults  than 
that.  I  will  merely  ask  for  another  kiss." 

She  turned  her  cheek  quickly,  before  he  could 
touch  her  lips,  and  this  was  annoying,  for  her 


A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS  141 

mouth  was  the  prettiest  one  he  had  seen  for  many 
a  day. 

"  You  said  you  had  some  amendments  to  my 
housekeeping  plans  that  would  make  them  all 
right.  It 's  so  dreadful  not  to  be  liked  and  to  be 
in  the  way  and  to  be  accused  of  things.  Of  course, 
it 's  my  fault,  but "  — 

"  I  take  it  you  followed  my  suggestion  and 
did  n't  mention  your  ideas  to  any  one  here,"  said 
Biznet,  looking  oddly  at  her. 

"  Of  course.  I  —  I  never  talk  to  them  about 
my  ideas.  They  don't  seem  to  understand,  some 
way." 

"  I  want  to  wait  a  little  while  before  telling  you 
what  my  amendment  is.  You  mightn't  like  it. 
But  we  '11  fix  things  some  way,  and  don't  you  fret. 
—  And  so  I  can  only  have  the  cheek  ?  I  wonder 
what  lucky  fellow  the  lips  are  reserved  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  —  say  such  things." 

"There,  there,  liebchen;  at  least  you  needn't 
be  afraid  of  me." 

Then  the  sad  voice  of  the  Burmese  gong  an- 
nounced breakfast,  its  slow  vibration  curling  up 
like  a  thin  wave  of  incense  smoke,  through  the 
banister  sticks,  around  the  chandelier,  touching 
their  ears  delicately.  "  I  'm  glad  that  thing  is 
still  in  existence,"  said  Borne.  "  It  would  n't  seem 
home  without  it." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kitty.  "It  takes  away 
my  appetite  some  way,  as  if  it  said,  '  Oh,  what 's 
the  use  of  Caking  all  this  trouble  to  eat  and  eat 
and  eat  —  one  dies  so  soon.'  " 


142  ROMAN  BIZNET 

There  were  coffee,  baked  beans,  brown  bread, 
slices  of  delicately  broiled  ham.  It  had  always 
been  so  on  Sunday  morning.  The  only  difference 
now  was  that  Rome  preferred  no  cream  in  his  cof- 
fee, and  found  greater  zesthetic  enjoyment  in  the 
deep  amber  gleam  of  the  perfect  beverage  as  it  lay 
in  the  bright  spoon. 

A  ray  of  sun  crept  through  the  vines  and 
twinkled  on  the  coffee  urn,  by  Miss  Tracy,  and 
reaching  across  the  table,  burnished  Billy's  fair 
hair  and  pink  cheeks  until  he  edged  away  from  it, 
which  brought  him  some  six  inches  nearer  Kitty. 
In  the  centre  of  the  table  were  half-open  roses, 
the  raindrops  of  the  night  still  upon  their  petals, 
their  odor  mingling  daintily  with  that  of  the 
breakfast  —  with  as  much  appropriateness  as  if  a 
woman  in  evening  gown  should  take  a  notion  to  do 
her  marketing  so  attired.  Everything  about  the 
table  was  peaceful,  well-bred,  good-natured.  Maud 
was  an  expert  at  impersonal  conversation  about 
weather,  a  book,  anything  far  enough  away  or 
abstract  enough  to  hurt  nobody.  If  Kitty  had 
fallen  into  a  way  of  being  absent  and  sad,  one  did 
not  mind.  She  was  supposed  to  be  thinking  of 
her  difficulties  at  the  Normal. 

But  Rome,  watching,  was  positive,  when  she 
dropped  her  napkin  and  Billy  picked  it  up  for 
her,  that  he  squeezed  her  hand  under  cover  of  it, 
and  he  wondered  if  Maud  chose  to  sit  by  himself 
and  opposite  Kitty  because  the  place  was  of  stra- 
tegic value  if  one  wished  to  watch. 

As  they  sat  on  the  veranda  after  breakfast  he 


A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS  143 

picked  up  the  roll  of  music  which  Maud  was  to 
take  to  church.    It  seemed  she  sang  in  the  choir :  — 

"  Love  not  the  world, 
Nor  the  things  that  are  in  the  world ; 
For  the  world  passeth  away, 
And  the  lost  thereof." 

Kitty  came  out  in  a  gray,  nun-like  gown,  wear- 
ing a  bunch  of  sweet  peas,  hooded  like  novices. 
She  looked  inexpressibly  churchly,  as  she  sat  down 
and  began  to  draw  on  a  pair  of  white  gloves.  It 
seemed  absurd  that  there  should  be  any  difficulty 
whatever  in  stretching  gloves  to  fit  such  small 
hands.  It  occurred  to  Biznet  that  it  would  be 
within  the  privileges  of  a  cousin  to  assist  at  the 
ceremony,  but  while  he  was  doing  so  Billy  strolled 
up  with  his  dogs  and  eyed  them  gloomily,  which 
attitude  on  Billy's  part  caused  Rome  to  linger  un- 
necessarily over  the  slim,  blue-veined  wrist,  and 
deepened  that  peaceful  Sabbath  feeling  which  he 
had  toward  all  the  world,  as  if  the  discontent  on 
Billy's  face  had  eliminated  the  last  shadow  from 
himself. 

It  was  odd,  on  that  walk  to  church,  to  see  the 
boys  and  girls  he  had  known  in  the  high  school. 
Some  were  married.  That  seemed  unreasonable. 
Patience  Bartlett,  the  girl  whom  he  had  been  al- 
most in  love  with,  was  dead,  which  seemed  like 
something  read  in  a  book.  He  remembered  that  her 
hair  had  been  very  beautiful,  brown,  like  bronze, 
and  curly.  Her  lips  had  been  very  red,  and  she 
had  been  over-fond  of  being  kissed.  Then,  there 
was  Benny  Wells,  swinging  along  with  a  Bible  in 


144  ROMAN  BIZNET 

his  hand,  his  frock  coat  wrinkling  between  the 
shoulders,  and  Gladys,  wearing  an  enormous  bunch 
of  yellow  marigolds  pinned  to  her  aniline  pink 
gown.  That  was  all  as  it  should  be,  and  their 
faces  were  as  smug  and  good  as  they  had  been  at 
school  —  when  they  stole  the  Regents'  question 
papers,  and  were  almost  caught.  Rome  had  shared 
in  the  profits  of  that  raid,  but  he  had  no  great 
affection  for  his  fellow  sinners.  They  greeted  him 
warmly  and  fell  in  behind  the  Tracys  in  the  pro- 
cession across  the  Green. 

"  He  is  n't  changed  one  bit,"  he  heard  Gladys 
say,  and  a  low  murmur  from  Benny,  in  which  he 
only  distinguished  the  word  "  Canuck."  And  this 
set  him  meditating  on  the  many  different  ways  in 
which  he  was  superior  to  Benny  Wells,  and  how 
he  would  demonstrate  it.  He  was  walking  with 
Miss  Tracy.  Kitty  was  behind  with  Maud.  Billy 
had  stayed  at  home  with  pipe  and  dogs  and  the 
magazines. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Tracy,"  said  a  voice,  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  little  lady  he  saw  the 
gleam  of  a  white  gown,  and  a  face,  amused  and 
curious,  peering  at  him  under  the  edge  of  the  sun- 
shade which  he  was  holding. 

"  So  this  is  the  celebrity,"  said  Bess  Heathway, 
holding  out  her  hand  in  a  quick,  awkward  way. 
She  looked  back  at  the  crowd  of  church-goers 
behind  them.  "  There  won't  be  many  empty  pews 
this  morning,"  she  said,  with  obvious  application. 
"I'm  not  sure  that  isn't  why  I'm  coming  to 
church  myself.  I  'm  not  morally  obliged  to  go. 


A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS  145 

I  've  reckoned  it  up,  you  see  —  at  college  we  had 
to  go  to  chapel  once  a  day,  and  every  time  I  went 
I  said,  '  There 's  a  Sunday  off ; '  I  went  enough 
then  to  last  me  ten  years,  I  estimated." 

"  Why,  Bessie,"  remonstrated  Miss  Tracy.  Biz- 
net  grinned. 

"  I  thought  you  believed  in  infant  damnation," 
said  he. 

"  Why,  Rome !  "  said  Miss  Tracy. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  replied  Bess,  serenely.  "  Maybe 
I  did.  Is  n't  this  a  lovely  morning !  I  used  to 
think  the  Lord  made  Sundays  especially,  —  that 
nice  Sundays  smelt  different  from  other  days.  I 
said  that  once  to  Mr.  Wells,  and  he  put  it  in  a  ser- 
mon. How  proud  I  was !  " 

In  the  church  was  the  usual  whispering  of  silk, 
starch,  hymn-book  leaves.  The  women  bent  for- 
ward devoutly,  with  their  foreheads  upon  the  pews 
in  front.  Bizuet,  covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
had  a  homesick  qualm  for  the  holy  water  and  the 
incense  of  St.  Mary's  Chapel,  whose  bell  was  again 
clamoring  for  wandering  lambs,  interfering  with 
the  rhythm  of  the  deep-mouthed  peal  from  their 
own  spire. 

Then  the  organ  began  to  make  sullen  remarks 
under  unskillful  fingers,  and  he  sat  up  stiffly,  feel- 
ing that  his  ears  clung  flatly  to  his  head  in  protest. 
He  recognized  Maud's  hat  among  the  others  in  the 
choir,  and  Benny  Wells's  red  head,  —  just  match- 
ing his  sister's  marigolds.  Mr.  Wells,  sitting  in 
his  chair  behind  the  pulpit,  one  plump  knee  crossed 
over  the  other,  his  white  hand  with  short,  square- 


146  ROMAN  BIZNET 

tipped  fingers  before  his  eyes,  was  a  landmark,  and 
something  unchangeable  in  a  land  of  change.  His 
voice  in  prayer  was  the  same ;  the  prayer  itself  was 
the  same ;  and  one  felt  that  the  Person  whom  he 
addressed  had  not  in  any  way  developed  broader 
views  nor  departed  from  his  curious  prejudices 
during  the  last  few  years. 

"  Love  not  the  world, 
Nor  the  things  that  are  in  the  world ; 
For  the  world  passeth  away, 
And  the  lust  thereof." 

Such  was  the  very  good  advice  offered  by  the 
choir.  Biznet  looked  thoughtfully  at  Kitty's  de- 
mure profile  and  the  already  perishing  sweet  peas 
under  her  chin,  and  he  did  n't  see  why  one  should  n't 
love  a  thing  merely  because  it  is  perishable. 

Maud  sang  well.  Some  singers  would  have 
thought  they  must  attempt  to  express  pity  and 
concern  for  that  habit  of  men  of  holding  tightly 
to  their  fragile  toys,  and  for  the  necessity  which 
wrenches  their  fingers  open;  but  Maud  chose  a 
large  and  bland  indifference,  —  the  attitude  of 
a  child  that  puffs  away  dandelion  down  with  its 
breath.  He  liked  her  better  after  hearing  her 
sing,  for  she  did  it  in  a  sensible  way,  without  fuss. 

And  after  the  long  sermon  was  the  usual  long 
Sunday  dinner,  with  several  of  its  courses  served 
cold  out  of  regard  to  the  servants,  and  irresistible 
sleepiness  settled  upon  the  afternoon.  Miss  Tracy 
took  her  Bible  and  concordance  and  fell  asleep  over 
them  in  a  steamer  chair  behind  the  wistaria.  Maud 
read  Emerson  in  the  hammock.  Kitty  and  Roman 


A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS  147 

Biznet  in  the  garden  considered  a  book  of  blue 
prints  that  he  had  brought  home  with  him.  Billy 
with  his  dogs  strolled  up  to  them  with  an  expres- 
sion of  uneasiness,  and  then  strolled  away  again  in 
the  direction  of  Bess  Heathway,  the  glimmer  of 
whose  dress  was  visible  through  the  trees.  Biznet 
looked  after  him  meditatively,  and  then  glanced 
stealthily  at  Kitty,  —  whose  mouth  corners  were 
twitching,  and  whose  eyes  were  very  bright  under 
her  lashes,  —  and  as  he  looked  at  her  her  glance 
flickered  sidelong  to  him,  and  she  giggled. 

"  So !  "  said  Biznet. 

Presently  Kitty  declared  herself  too  sleepy  to 
live,  and  went  into  the  house ;  and  Roman,  fol- 
lowing, found  Dr.  Winthrop  and  a  cigar  seated  in 
mild  obscurity  on  the  veranda  steps.  He  seemed 
smaller,  older,  yellower  than  he  had  been  three 
years  before,  more  ready,  perhaps,  to  admit  himself 
an  invalid,  —  for  he  did  not  rise  and  come  forward 
in  his  pleasure  at  seeing  the  young  man,  but  sat 
where  he  was,  beaming  and  holding  out  one  hand 
in  greeting  all  the  time  Rome  was  coming  across 
the  lawn. 

Miss  Tracy  was  still  somnolent  behind  the  wis- 
taria, though  she  had  tried  to  get  up  a  discussion 
with  the  doctor  about  the  Sunday-school  lesson, 
which  was  something  about  "  sounding  brass  and 
tinkling  cymbal "  and  people  that  "  have  not 
charity." 

The  doctor  said  nothing  as  he  shook  Roman's 
hand,  but  looked  him  over  with  quiet  satisfaction, 
yet  with  a  lurking  anxiety. 


148  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  But  what  are  you  doing  with  red  cheeks  ?  "  he 
said  at  length.  "  You  have  n't  any  right  to  red 
cheeks." 

"  I  came  home  to  get  you  to  prescribe  for  them," 
said  Rome.  But  there  was  serious  meaning  under 
his  careless  tone  which  brought  additional  sharp- 
ness to  the  doctor's  scrutiny. 

"  You  've  been  thickening  up  some,  too,"  he  said. 
"  They  've  been  making  quite  a  German  of  you. 
Beer  and  sausages,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Biznet,  "  and  music." 

"  I  understand  people  are  predicting  great  things 
for  you.  How  about  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  as  may  be  !  " 

"  Let 's  hear  that  big  fiddle  of  yours." 

Rome  brought  his  'cello  to  the  veranda  and 
gave  his  first  performance  in  Cosmos,  choosing 
things  of  simple  melody  for  the  doctor's  pleasure, 
and  afterward,  when  Maud  appeared,  the  most  in- 
tricate things  he  knew. 

Miss  Tracy  wept ;  the  doctor  leaned  back  with 
a  smile  of  absolute  enjoyment ;  and  Maud,  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  looked  at  Biznet  very  intently, 
studying  his  hands,  his  face",  as  though  it  were 
there  that  the  interest  lay.  Kitty  stole  out  of  her 
room  into  the  upper  hall  to  listen,  but  crept  back 
yawning,  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

Rome  ended  with  a  rather  brilliant  and  showy 
composition,  which  he  announced  as  his  own. 

"  H'm  !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  How  badly  con- 
ceited are  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rome.     There  had  been 


A  CROP  OF  DANDELIONS  149 

a  lighting  and  softening  of  his  face  as  he  played, 
—  a  curious  erasing  of  any  lines  that  might  be 
called  sensual  or  sinister. 

"  I  should  think  you  had  a  pretty  good  right  to 
be,  if  anybody  has  any  right,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  It 's  a  youthful  disease,  like  the  measles  and 
whooping  cough."  He  smoked  for  a  while  thought- 
fully, and  then  delivered  one  of  his  small  lectures. 

"  Conceit  is  silly.  A  hen  cackles  because  she 
has  laid  an  egg,  —  as  if  she  had  any  choice  in  the 
matter! 

"  The  germs  of  books  and  of  music  are  n't  gen- 
erated spontaneously  in  the  brains  out  of  which 
they  sprout.  The  air  is  thick  with  ideas,  drifting 
about  with  every  wind  like  dandelion  down.  Most 
of  them,  maybe  all,  come  from  lives  gone  to  seed. 
You  see  a  white-headed  old  fellow "  (he  touched 
his  gray  hair)  "  ready  to  go  to  pieces  presently. 
But  the  whole  of  him  won't  descend  to  Orcus,  — 
only  the  withered  stem  and  leaves  ;  all  that  is 
worth  while  in  his  brain  will  somehow  get  out 
into  the  drift  of  things  again.  You  can't  chase 
the  metaphor  indefinitely,"  he  apologized. 

"  Yes,"  said  Biznet  dreamily,  "  people  talk  an 
awful  lot  of  rot  about  inspiration,  don't  they? 
There  were  some  long-haired  fellows  over  there  used 
to  make  me  ill.  It 's  so  contradictory,  you  know,  to 
pretend  you  're  inspired  by  some  outside  influence, 
and  then  go  around  cackling  over  the  big  thing 
you  've  done.  I  could  never  make  out  that  there 
was  anything  to  it  but  being  built  on  a  certain 
plan  to  begin  with,  and  then  working  like  the 


150  ROMAN  BIZNET 

devil  for  the  rest.  Inspiration  means  that  you 
enjoy  your  work." 

Maud  leaned  forward.  "But  go  back  to  the 
doctor's  dandelion  simile.  Your  being  built  in  a 
certain  way  means  good  soil ;  your  working  like 
the  what 's  his  name  is  the  making  it  ready :  then 
along  comes  a  little  dandelion  seed  and  tumbles 
in,  —  and  that 's  your  inspiration  !  " 

"  Um  ! "  said  Biznet.  "  That 's  all  right,  I  guess. 
I  wish  dandelions  were  a  more  profitable  crop." 


CHAPTER  IV 

PEGASUS    PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST 

SQUIRE  HEATHWAY  said  that  Roman  Biznet 
had  a  bad  face,  and  that  he  did  n't  want  him  hang- 
ing around.  His  daughter  set  her  jaw  to  the  exact 
counterpart  of  her  father's,  could  one  have  seen 
beneath  his  thick  white  beard,  and  argued  the 
matter. 

"  He  has  had  a  good  environment,"  said  she, 
"  and  the  racial  characteristics  of  his  ancestors,  if 
you  're  talking  about  phrenology,  are  very  differ- 
ent from  those  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  so  it  is  n't 
fair  to  judge  him  by  comparison.  Besides,  he  is 
so  wrapped  up  in  his  music  he  has  n't  had  time  to 
get  very  bad." 

"  He  has  a  bad  face,"  said  Squire  Heathway. 
"  He  has  a  low  forehead  and  looks  tricky.  There  's 
no  good  Injun  but  a  dead  Injun,  and  I  won't  have 
him  hanging  around." 

"  But,  papa,  he  is  n't  hanging  around.  Good 
gracious  !  If  I  were  Gladys  Wells  you  might  be 
anxious,  but  I  'm  not  silly  like  other  girls.  So 
does  Billy  come  over  here,  and  Benny  Wells,  and 
I  can't  refuse  to  receive  him  when  he  comes  with 
Billy,  so  long  as  he  behaves  —  as  he  always  does. 
And  you  like  to  hear  him  play,  —  you  know  you 
do." 


152  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"Young  Tracy  is  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Squire 
Heathway. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bess ;  "  I  hope  he  '11  marry  Kitty 
Conto." 

The  squire  grunted.  He  had  other  ideas,  but 
knew  in  what  century  he  was  living,  and  that 
young  people  attended  to  their  own  marrying  and 
giving  in  marriage  now. 

It  was  about  the  time  when  Elizabeth  won  this 
partial  victory  over  her  father  that  Roman  Biznet 
began  the  practice  of  watching  from  his  window 
until  the  figure  of  the  squire,  white  felt  hat,  gold- 
headed  cane,  ancient  Bose  at  his  side,  had  passed 
down  the  walk  and  disappeared  under  the  arch- 
ing elms,  before  he  himself  strolled  over  to  the 
Heathway  grounds,  to  swing  Bess  in  her  hammock, 
or  read  German  with  her,  or  tell  stories  of  student 
life  abroad. 

It  seemed  odd  to  him  that  a  girl  with  such  a 
pretty  profile  and  hair  that  lighted  up  so  well  in 
the  sunshine  should  have  registered  a  vow  never  to 
marry.  By  and  by  he  began  to  think  it  was  a 
pity.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  question  the 
durability  of  such  a  vow,  nor  its  wisdom.  He  had 
always  had  a  strangely  humble  respect  for  Eliza- 
beth Heathway's  wisdom  since  the  day  when  she 
was  valedictorian  of  her  class  at  the  high  school 
and  he  was  ingloriously  dropped. 

He  constantly  made  new  discoveries  about  her. 
One  day  he  was  annoyed  at  a  rip  in  her  sleeve  that 
she  had  pinned  up  instead  of  mending  neatly. 
The  next  he  found  something  attractive  about  it, 


PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST    153 

because  her  arm  was  so  full  and  round,  and  because 
it  proved  her  mind  above  trifles. 

He  decided  she  was  a  pretty  good  friend  for  a 
fellow  to  have,  and  planned  to  take  her  into  his 
confidence  about  Kitty  before  long. 

Elizabeth  had  been  taking  old  Pegasus  for  a 
long  constitutional.  Pegasus  went  slowly,  now, 
with  an  uncertain  movement  in  one  of  his  hind 
legs,  and  he  was  renewing  his  youth  as  a  saddle 
horse  by  galloping  in  harness  whenever  he  could 
get  a  chance,  though  his  enemies  said  he  got  over 
the  ground  no  faster  in  this  manner  than  when  he 
was  allowed  to  walk  at  a  gait  which  did  not  inter- 
fere with  switching  the  flies  with  his  tail,  which 
was  long  and  gray,  like  an  old  man's  beard,  and 
generally  in  a  beautiful  state  of  crimp  and  gloss 
from  Elizabeth's  skillful  fingers.  There  was  a 
saying  in  Cosmos  that  Pegasus's  hind  leg  had 
pretty  nearly  paid  for  the  veterinary's  new  house, 
but  this  was  a  malicious  slander,  traceable  directly 
to  Billy,  whereupon  Bess  in  retaliation  had  vilified 
his  dogs  with  a  wealth  of  adjective  which  left  them 
a  by-word  throughout  the  town. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  At  that  time  of  the 
year  afternoon  stretched  out  long  after  tea-time. 
Bess  leaned  back  in  the  phaeton,  holding  the  reins 
laxly,  and  Pegasus  drowsed  along,  picking  his  own 
way  in  a  state  of  somnambulism,  —  even  turning 
into  a  ditch  with  absent-minded  skill,  to  let  a  tower- 
ing load  of  hay  go  by,  which  Bess  had  not  noticed. 
Foolish  white  butterflies  fluttered  up  about  his 


154  ROMAN  BIZNET 

hoofs,  and  one  of  them  perched  on  Elizabeth's 
glove. 

She  stared  at  it  unseeingly.  The  crease  be- 
tween her  eyebrows  was  unusually  deep.  And  she 
was  gowned  with  astonishing  neatness,  a  trim  gray 
figure  with  everything  put  on  straight,  just  as 
Kitty  Conto,  that  little  pattern,  would  have  had 
it.  Even  the  white  veil  about  her  hat,  instead  of 
being  crumpled  and  soiled,  was  crisp  with  newness 
and  hemmed  at  the  ends. 

"  Well,  what 's  happened  ?  "  her  mother  had  ex- 
claimed when  she  appeared  thus.  "  You  almost 
look  as  if  you  were  some  relation  to  me." 

Pegasus,  striking  the  main  road,  pricked  up  his 
ears,  and  lunged  into  his  absurd  canter,  planning 
to  go  home,  but  Elizabeth,  waking  up  at  the  same 
time,  turned  his  head  another  way  and  sent  him 
moping  through  French  Hollow  and  up  the  narrow 
sumac-bordered  road  that  led  past  the  little  empty 
house  where  Alphonsine  Conto  had  once  lived.  It 
was  haunted,  of  course,  and  vacant  but  for  that. 
The  windows  were  broken  ;  the  door  hung  sideways 
from  its  hinges.  But  leaning  against  the  window 
was  a  spindling  hollyhock,  with  two  feeble  red 
flowers,  whose  great-great-grandmother  had  been 
tended  by  Alphonsine. 

Pegasus  halted,  turning  an  eye  of  mild  inquiry 
upon  Bess,  as  she  descended  from  the  carriage, 
and  walked  hesitatingly  through  the  jungle  of 
weeds  to  the  door.  She  looked  about  her  a  little 
fearfully  and  then  pushed  it  open. 

From  a  broken  window  a  beam  of  late,  redden- 


PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST    155 

ing  sunshine  lay  upon  the  kitchen  table.  There 
were  no  chairs,  for  they  had  been  long  ago  acquired 
by  neighbors  who  needed  them  more  than  they 
feared  the  "  haunt."  But  it  seemed  to  Bess  merely 
desolate  and  empty,  whatever  horror  had  once 
clung  about  it  having  evaporated.  And  even  if 
there  were  a  ghost  there,  Alphonsine  had  been  a 
kindly  soul.  Bess  remembered  many  of  her  de- 
lightful, dreadful  stories,  —  of  the  black  cat  that 
got  to  be  seven  years  old,  and  at  that  age  being 
doomed  to  death  by  Alphonsine's  father,  had 
flown  to  the  ceiling  and  lit  there  upside  down  like 
a  fly,  walking  about  and  swearing, —  "  Sacree — 
s-s-sacree  !  "  And  there  was  the  loup-garou  who 
chopped  wood  by  day,  but  at  night  left  his  wife  and 
baby  and  went  out  to  chew  his  neighbor's  throat. 
Bess  reflected  sorrowfully  that  Alphonsine's  reality 
had  proved  as  dreadful  as  her  fancies. 

She  had  not  meant  to  do  it,  but  now  that  she 
wa.s  there,  she  went  to  the  table  and  peered  beyond 
it  at  the  place  where  people  said  there  was  still  a 
large  brown  stain.  It  was  there,  dingy,  and  vague 
of  outline  under  the  drifted  dust.  Elizabeth  had 
expected  herself  to  quail  at  this,  but  no  —  she 
found  only  a  cold  and  curious  feeling  within  her, 
as  when  one  looks  at  things  in  a  museum.  But 
something  else  made  her  jump  back,  and  the  blood 
sang  in  her  ears.  It  was  one  petal  of  a  geranium, 
red,  bright,  and  fresh,  and  it  lay  by  the  table  leg, 
where  the  stain  had  spread  under  and  crept  along 
in  a  narrow  channel. 

"  Rome  has  been  here ! "  she  said,  and  looked 


156  ROMAN  BIZNET 

about  as  if  he  might  step  out  of  a  corner.  "  They 
think  he 's  heartless  and  cynical,  and  does  n't  care 
about  things,  but  he  's  been  here  —  alone." 

It  must  have  been  he,  dandy  that  he  was,  and 
always  with  a  red  flower  in  his  buttonhole. 

She  picked  up  the  petal ;  then  replaced  it  as  she 
had  found  it.  There  seemed  something  symbolic 
about  it  as  it  lay  there,  though  just  how  she  could 
not  have  told.  But  the  picture  in  her  mind  of 
Biznet  standing  in  the  desolate  room,  looking  down 
sadly  upon  that  gloomy  reminder  of  his  child- 
hood's tragedy,  was  as  vivid  as  if  she  had  seen  him 
there.  And  she  found  herself  wishing  that  she 
might  see  in  reality  the  expression  upon  his  face 
which  she  fancied  it  had  then  worn.  She  wondered 
if  he  had  stood  uncovered,  like  a  man  at  a  grave  — 
if  there  had  been  a  lump  in  his  throat.  There  was 
one  in  hers  as  she  considered  the  question. 

As  she  came  out  the  robins  were  in  full  cry 
from  the  tops  of  hop-poles,  from  the  elms,  —  their 
little  faces  and  red  breasts  turned  to  the  setting 
sun.  The  light  was  all  red  gold,  with  purple 
shadows  among  the  hills,  and  the  various  sounds 
of  French  Hollow  came  up  pleasantly  as  the  peo- 
ple buzzed  like  insects  over  their  supper-getting. 

Just  why  Bess  was  happy  as  she  turned  Pegasus 
toward  home  and  drove  back  through  the  sunset, 
she  could  not  have  told.  Perhaps  it  is  always 
pleasant  to  catch  a  stray  glimpse  of  something 
good  in  the  depths  of  somebody  else's  soul. 

As  she  passed  the  post-office  she  saw  him  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  lighting  a  cigarette.  There 


PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST    157 

was  a  bunch  of  red  geranium  in  his  buttonhole, 
and  one  of  the  flowers  was  dropping  to  pieces,  two 
petals  lying  at  his  feet  as  he  stood  there.  She 
smiled  at  the  accuracy  of  her  reasoning. 

"  Don't  you  want  a  ride  home  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  accepted  with  pleased  surprise,  dropping  the 
freshly  lit  cigarette  beside  the  red  petals  as  he 
stepped  forward. 

"I've  had  quite  a  long  walk,  and  I'm  pretty 
tired,"  he  admitted. 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?  "  She  did  not  expect  him 
to  tell  the  truth.  But  he  did.  He  settled  down 
in  a  rather  inelegant  and  tired  attitude  at  his  end 
of  the  seat  and  did  not  answer  at  once.  Then 
he  said  abruptly,  "  I  went  to  Phosy's  house." 

Bess  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  he  must  have  something  on  his  mind  to 
tell  the  truth  in  such  an  abrupt,  unskillful  way. 

"I  wonder  why  I  went?"  he  added  presently. 
"  I  wish  I  had  n't." 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  Phosy  when  I  was  a  little 
girl,"  said  Bess.  "  It  seems  a  great  pity  the  mys- 
tery never  could  be  cleared  up,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  dryly,  "  a  great  pity." 

She  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  His  light  and 
cheerful  mockery  she  was  accustomed  to  ;  but  this 
mood  was  one  that  might  be  tragically  bitter  and 
earnest,  if  she  read  his  face  right  in  the  growing 
dusk. 

"  Let 's  drive  around  a  bit  more,  won't  you  ? " 
he  said.  "  I  'm  not  in  just  the  mood  to  go  —  home, 
yet." 


158  ROMAN  BIZNET 

She  turned  down  a  road  that  led  along  the 
banks  of  the  Powasket  toward  the  sunset  and  the 
even  horizon  of  the  St.  Lawrence  country. 

"  I  'd  rather  you  would  n't  tell  anybody  I  went 
there,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  told  you, 
I  'm  sure.  Not  that  there  's  any  reason  why  I 
should  n't  go,  but  I  have  a  morbid  dislike  of  com- 
ment. I  even  dread  what  success  I  may  have  in 
New  York  next  winter.  People  are  such  fools." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Bess. 

"  Do  you  ?  I  had  an  idea  you  were  fond  of 
glory  and  honor  and  so  forth." 

"  I  used  to  be.  One  outgrows  it,  though,  don't 
you  think?" 

"  Yes.  I  seem  to  remember  having  it  once,  but 
it  was  when  I  was  a  boy  and  lived  at  Phosy's. 
It 's  odd  how  some  things  can  knock  one's  notions 
endwise.  I  've  sometimes  wondered  in  just  what 
way  I  'd  have  been  different  if  that  had  n't  hap- 
pened. Do  you  know  you  've  improved  wonder- 
fully ?  You  have  n't  boxed  my  ears  since  I  came 
back.  You  're  quite  welcome  to,  you  know,  if  you 
like." 

The  serious  mood  had  vanished  in  the  middle  of 
a  sentence,  and  he  was  smiling  the  twisted  smile 
that  was  like  Kitty's,  as  his  eyes  shone  through 
the  dusk. 

"  I  will  box  them,"  she  replied,  "  if  it 's  neces- 
sary. You  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Remember  infant  damnation  ?  " 

"  I  do,  inasmuch  as  this  is  the  third  time  you  've 
mentioned  it  since  you  came  back." 


PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST    159 

"  You  're  quite  sure  you  don't  believe  the  babies 
get  the  '  easiest  room  in  hell '  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  You  're  a  Buddhist  now,  are  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Are  you  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  I  'm  a  Roman  Catholic.  I  went  to  the 
Cathedral  regularly  abroad,  but  don't  tell  Miss 
Tracy.  I  knew  the  organist.  He  was  a  bird !  " 

"  Do  you  hear  that?  "  asked  Elizabeth  suddenly. 

"What?" 

She  motioned  back  with  her  head.  "  The  Cosmos 
band.  They  're  practicing  on  the  Green.  We  're 
going  to  have  a  big  Fourth,  you  know." 

"  What  in  the  world  are  they  playing  ?  "  asked 
Biznet,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  reins  to  stop  the 
carriage  and  the  noise  of  the  wheels.  After  a 
moment's  listening  he  doubled  up  with  mirth. 
"  And  this,"  he  gasped,  "  is  Fame !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Bess,  "  what  is  it  ?  I  can't  make 
it  out." 

"  Oh,  nothing  but  a  march  that  I  wrote  in  my 
misguided  youth.  Somebody  else  has  the  copy- 
right, and  this  is  the  sixth  time  I  've  heard  it  since 
I  came  back.  I  wish  I  had  the  money  it 's  bring- 
ing in  to  somebody,  and  I  wish,  too,  I  could  tack 
some  other  fellow's  name  to  it." 

"  But  why?  I  think  it's  splendid,"  said  Bess, 
listening. 

It  was  so  far  away  that  not  much  was  audible 
but  the  throb  of  the  drum  and  the  melody  carried 
by  the  cornet.  Biznet  listened,  too,  with  a  queer 
little  smile  that  was  partly  of  enjoyment. 


160  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  "what's  become  of  the 
young  chap  who  wrote  that  and  thought  he  was 
doing  such  great  things  ?  It  is  n't  so  bad,  for  a 
kid  that  did  n't  know  how.  What  becomes  of  the 
people  we  used  to  be,  anyhow?  Is  that  down  in 
your  philosophy?  It  ought  to  be,  for  I  haven't 
met  Bess  Heathway  since  I  came  back.  I  've 
looked  for  her,  too." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  smile.  "  She 's  just 
as  well  gone,  don't  you  think?  She  was  an  im- 
possible little  creature." 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  and  little  Romy  Biznet 
are  still  scrapping  somewhere  ?  " 

Bess  turned  the  carriage  about.  "  It 's  quite 
probable  —  making  snowballs  of  the  'snows  of 
y ester  year  ' !  " 

"And  little  Kitty  Conto  is  still  too  young  to 
play  their  big  games,  and  Billy  Tracy  is  still  older 
and  wiser  than  all  three." 

"  And  Pegasus  is  still  a  colt,"  concluded  Bess. 
"  I  wonder  where  ?  " 

Biznet  leaned  back  with  his  hands  behind  his 
head,  one  foot  dangling  out  over  the  wheel.  They 
were  facing  the  Adirondack  horizon  again,  where 
the  mountains  were  like  a  bank  of  dark  clouds, 
and  the  stars  were  out. 

The  Cosmos  band  was  not  unpleasant.  Biznet 
hummed  the  march  they  were  playing,  laughing 
now  and  then  when  the  instruments  stuttered, 
flatted,  or  lost  the  rhythm. 

"It  spoils  pleasure  to  know  too  much,"  said 
Bess.  "  Now,  to  me,  that  little  thread  of  music, 


PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST    161 

mixing  itself  up  with  the  night,  the  sound  of  the 
carriage  wheels  and  the  crickets,  is  satisfactory  in 
every  way.  Why  don't  you  take  it  as  a  whole  in- 
stead of  letting  little  discords  spoil  everything  for 
you?" 

"  But  I  do.  Only  I  see  the  fun  of  it,  as  you 
don't.  Yes,  I  can  take  it  as  a  whole,  just  as  you 
do.  Seems  funny  to  think  of  the  chap  that  wrote 
it,  though.  He  took  things  so  seriously !  " 

"  This  road  is  going  to  take  us  right  past  them," 
said  Bess  apprehensively. 

"  Well,  you  said  you  liked  it." 

"  But  Pegasus  will  dance !  " 

"  That  will  be  nice." 

"  Oh !  will  it  ?  Perhaps  we  can  get  by  in  a 
hurry  during  an  intermission." 

"I  thought  you  didn't  grudge  Pegasus  any- 
thing. Billy  was  saying  "  — 

"  I  know.  About  Pegasus's  hind  leg  and  La 
Barge's  new  house.  Tray  killed  some  of  our 
chickens  the  other  day.  I  'm  going  to  shoot  those 
mongrels  next  time  I  get  a  chance." 

"  Mongrels !     Why,  their  pedigree  "  — 

"  And  Pegasus  is  the  best  horse  in  the  county. 
But  I  don't  like  him  to  dance.  It  is  n't  dignified, 
and  pleases  little  boys.  He  just  stands  still  in  one 
spot  and  goes  up  and  down." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  came,"  said  Biznet. 

"  But  perhaps  we  can  get  by  in  a  hurry  during 
an  intermission." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Biznet,  straightening  up  in  an 
alert  way.  "Don't  you  want  me  to  drive  for  a 
while  ?  "  he  insinuated. 


162  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Not  you !  " 

They  let  the  horse  amble  along  slowly  until  the 
last  note  of  "  Marching  through  Georgia "  had 
flattened  into  silence,  and  then  Bess  rattled  the 
whip  in  the  socket,  a  proceeding  as  near  to  cor- 
poral punishment  as  Pegasus  knew.  He  puffed 
indignantly  and  lumbered  into  a  gallop.  "  Oh 
dear  me  !  "  said  Bess,  "  we  '11  never  get  by  at  this 
rate." 

"  Better  let  him  walk,"  suggested  Rome. 

"  And  he  used  to  be  the  best  trotter  !  I  don't 
see  what 's  got  into  him.  You  remember  how  he 
was  when  we  were  all  children." 

"  Sic  transit.  'T  is  n't  so  hard  on  his  hind  leg, 
I  suppose." 

Bess  rattled  the  whip  again  nervously;  they 
were  in  sight  of  the  band-stand  now.  The  leader 
was  wiping  his  forehead.  There  were  many  of  the 
townspeople  strolling  about  the  Green,  and  all  the 
small  boys  were  gathered  at  the  fence,  which  con- 
sisted of  horizontal  iron  bars,  on  which  one  could 
swing  by  the  hands.  If  the  Cosmos  male  popula- 
tion is  unusually  strong  in  the  hands  and  wrists,  it 
is  probably  due  to  unremitting  practice  in  youth 
upon  these  bars  of  the  Green  fence. 

"  I  used  to  do  that,"  murmured  Rome  wistfully. 
"  I  'd  like  to  do  it  again.  I  'd  like  to  steal  apples, 
too!" 

"  They  are  n't  ripe  yet." 

"There's  nothing  so  good  as  an  apple  three 
weeks  after  it 's  been  in  flower,"  said  Rome  sadly. 

"  Gracious !     And  you  live  to  tell  the  tale !  " 


PEGASUS  PROVES  A  SENTIMENTALIST    163 

They  were  just  passing  the  band-stand ;  Bess 
looked  anxiously  over  her  shoulder,  set  her  teeth, 
and  took  the  whip  out  of  the  socket.  But  Biznet, 
as  the  tap  of  the  leader's  baton  sounded,  quietly 
replaced  the  whip  and  gathered  the  reins  out  of 
her  hands. 

"  I  'm  a  better  friend  to  Pegasus  than  you  are," 
he  said ;  and  the  band,  with  a  toot  and  a  bang, 
started  up  his  own  march  again.  Bess,  who  had 
been  wildly  indignant,  decided  that  the  joke  was 
not  entirely  on  herself  after  all.  And  Pegasus 
danced.  He  threw  up  his  head  and  kicked  out 
with  his  hoofs,  and  spun  round  on  his  hind  legs, 
while  the  little  boys  left  the  fence  and  made  a 
circle  about  him. 

"  You  see,"  said  Biznet,  "  I  'm  killing  two 
stones  with  one  bird.  It  is  n't  only  Pegasus  I  'm 
pleasing,  but  pretty  nearly  the  whole  rising  gen- 
eration of  Cosmos.  These  youngsters  don't  often 
get  a  free  circus,  —  neither  do  I." 

"  I  shall  pay  you  back  for  this  some  day,"  said 
Bess  meditatively.  She  was  taking  it  quite  philo- 
sophically, having  shrunk  back  as  far  as  possible 
into  shadow.  "  I  don't  know  just  how  I  '11  do  it, 
but  I  '11  think  up  something." 

"  I  don't  doubt,"  said  Rome,  "  but  just  think  of 
Pegasus !  " 

"  He  does  seem  to  enjoy  it,"  said  Bess.  "  I 
wonder  why  ?  Why  do  horses  like  music,  do  you 
suppose  ?  And  why  do  dogs  hate  it  so  ?  I  nearly 
laughed  myself  ill  yesterday  when  you  were  try- 
ing to  practice  on  your  'cello  and  Bose  and  Tray 


164  ROMAN  BIZNET 

tuned  up.  They  got  the  best  of  it,  too,  until  you 
banged  your  window  shut." 

"  That 's  a  thing  I  've  often  wondered  about,"  said 
Rome,  "  particularly  since  I  've  got  down  more  to 
the  science  of  music  and  see  how  abstract  and  ab- 
struse it  really  is.  It  makes  me  sick  to  have  a 
woman  mopping  her  eyes  while  I  play,  yet  here  is 
Pegasus  dancing  around  to  this  old  idea  of  mine, 
and  I  take  it  as  a  compliment !  And  the  dogs,  — 
well,  I  fancy  they  liked  it,  too,  but  a  dog  is  a  sen- 
timentalist, like  a  woman." 

The  march  ended,  and  the  excitement  ebbed 
from  the  old  horse's  hoofs. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  most  delightful 
evening,"  said  Biznet,  as  he  left  her  at  the  barn 
door. 


CHAPTER  V 
BOMAN  BIZNET'S  AMENDMENT 

IF  Maud  Tracy  had  not  roused  Biznet's  an- 
tagonism he  might  not  have  discovered  any  great 
tenderness  for  Kitty.  But  there  was  a  poison  in 
him.  If  it  stagnated,  he  was  sour  and  diseased 
throughout.  If  it  found  an  outlet  it  left  a  very 
good  sort  of  fellow,  companionable  and  soft- 
hearted. It  was  a  process  of  mental  and  moral 
surgery,  merely,  for  the  reduction  of  fever.  And 
Maud  bled  him  of  his  black  blood,  like  a  judi- 
ciously applied  leech. 

But  she  did  n't  know  it  —  for  a  while  —  for  he 
found,  on  sorting  over  his  stock  of  masks  and 
dominos,  a  sweet,  grim  suavity  to  turn  toward 
her.  It  was  long  before  she  suspected  that  he 
wore  a  mask  at  all,  and  longer  still  before  he 
dropped  it. 

"  Can  you  help  me  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Biznet  ?  " 
Maud  was  coming  from  the  attic,  carrying  a  pic- 
ture. 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  I  was  going  to  hang  this  in  Kitty's  room ;  it 
seems  a  pity  to  keep  pretty  things  tucked  away." 

She  set  the  frame  on  a  divan  and  stood  off  from 
it,  dusting  her  palms  together. 

"The  Fornarina."  He  laughed  slightly,  mut- 
tering something  under  his  breath. 


166  ROMAN  BIZNET 

" I  beg  pardon?" 

"  I  was  just  quoting  a  line  of  Faust." 

"  I  like  quotations  ;  I  did  n't  catch  it." 

"  Ein  rothes  Mauschen  ihr  aus  dem  Munde." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  she  looks  wicked  ?  It  had  n't 
occurred  to  me.  She  is  pretty,  anyway,  and  Kitty 
needs  cheering  up." 

"  So  !  "  he  said  softly,  but  as  he  helped  to  hang 
the  picture  he  kept  whistling  under  his  breath  the 
Red  Mouse  melody  which  his  grandfather's  ghost 
had  taught  him.  The  Fornarina  smiled  slyly. 

Kitty  came  in  and  thanked  them  both  sweetly 
for  their  trouble. 

"  How  good  you  are  to  me !  "  she  said  to  Maud, 
and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  You  little  Judas  !  "  reflected  Biznet,  and  when 
Maud  was  gone  out  took  a  kiss  himself. 

"  You  said  you  would  n't,  Romy.  Won't  any- 
body at  all  do  as  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Come  out  in  the  garden,  Pussy ;  I  believe 
you  've  been  sewing  all  day." 

"I  was  helping  Miss  Maud  put  some  afghan 
strips  together.  Will  you  tell  me  about  that 
'  amendment '  you  spoke  of  ?  I  'm  so  anxious. 
I  've  been  thinking  so  much  about  it.  I  should 
feel  more  independent  with  you.  Tell  me." 

"Perhaps  I  will,"  he  answered.  They  were 
standing  in  the  hall.  He  glanced  swiftly  to  right 
and  left.  There  was  no  one,  and  he  kissed  her 
mouth,  hotly.  "  You  think  we  're  brother  and 
sister  ?  You  must  marry  me  if  you  come  to  New 
York.  I  want  you,  Pussy  —  for  a  wife.  Do  I 


ROMAN  BIZNET'S  AMENDMENT  167 

hurt  you  ?    I  want  you  to  feel  —  I  could  make  you 
forget  Billy." 

Then  he  released  her,  for  there  was  a  step  in 
the  hall  below  as  of  Maud  returning.  Kitty  fled 
into  her  room  and  locked  the  door :  but  first  she 
looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  and  he  never  for- 
got the  terrified  misery  of  her  face. 

That  afternoon  he  spent  in  the  society  of  his 
'cello.  There  were  simplicity  and  reliability  in 
her  stiff,  brown  body  and  responsive  strings. 
Women  were  too  strangely  complicated.  And 
he  seemed  to  have  found  new  complications  in 
himself.  If  you  hold  a  string,  so,  with  a  steady 
finger,  and  draw  the  bow  —  so  —  you  know  what 
you  are  going  to  get.  But  if  you  feel  that  you 
yourself  have  been  taken  in  hand  and  that  un- 
known fingers  are  tuning  you,  that  your  own  vitals 
are  become  catgut,  you  naturally  feel  a  flutter  of 
anxiety  about  Fate's  skill  in  the  matter.  The 
breaking  of  a  string  will  be  painful.  You  hope 
there  will  be  enough  resin  on  the  bow.  Then  you 
perceive  that  other  people  are  also  being  put  in 
tune  ;  they  are  off  the  key,  their  strings  break,  — 
will  the  overture  never  begin?  For  the  discord 
is  confusing ;  and  that  great  music  for  which  we 
are  being  prepared  —  can  it  be  played  at  all  upon 
such  toys  as  we  ? 

Roman  talked  the  matter  over  with  his  'cello 
during  the  afternoon,  and  although  they  reached 
no  particular  conclusion,  he  felt  "  more  like  a  white 
man  "  at  dinner  time. 


168  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Kitty's  place  was  vacant.  It  was  Billy  who 
asked  sharply  where  she  was.  "  She  has  a  head- 
ache," answered  Miss  Tracy,  but  there  was  no 
sympathy  in  her  tone.  Sometimes  there  was  a 
harsh,  dry  quality  in  the  little  lady's  voice,  and 
when  you  heard  it  and  looked,  startled,  into  her 
eyes  to  understand  the  reason,  you  would  see  a 
redness  of  the  lids  there,  and  a  fine  veining  of 
blood  in  the  eye  itself.  It  was  not  the  redness 
that  comes  from  tears,  but  was  an  hereditary 
characteristic  in  the  Tracy  family.  There  had 
been  warriors  among  them,  —  people  with  tem- 
pers. 

"  Kitty  is  so  mortified  over  her  failure  at  the 
Normal,"  said  Maud  kindly.  "  Of  course  it  is 
hard  to  look  back  on  lost  opportunities." 

Billy  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  table  with  a 
crash.  It  must  be  pleasant  not  to  be  bought  and 
paid  for,  —  to  be  able  to  let  fly  opinions  from 
one's  mouth  without  fearing  the  effect  on  the  bread 
and  butter  that  goes  into  it. 

"  The  idea  of  making  her  a  teacher  was  idiotic. 
If  I  had  been  at  home  "  — 

"  Billy !     To  your  aunt !     For  shame  !  " 

"  If  I  had  been  at  home,  it  never  would  have 
been  tried,  —  when  there  are  good  schools  for  girls, 
where  they  are  not  browbeaten  and  worked  to 
death." 

"  You  speak  as  though  Kitty  had  some  claim  on 
your  aunt." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  aunt  Em  was  fond  of  her,  and 
wanted  to  make  her  a  gentlewoman  and  of  our  own 


ROMAN  BIZNET'S  AMENDMENT  169 

class ;  but  it  seems  not.  I  thought  —  I  'd  have 
given  my  money,  if  that  was  all.  Why  did  you 
tell  me  it  was  her  own  choice  ?  " 

"  Do  you  accuse  me  of  prevaricating  ?  It  was 
her  own  choice."  Miss  Tracy  rose  in  a  stately 
manner,  and  left  the  room. 

Biznet  heard  her  light  step  in  the  upper  hall, 
heard  her  knock  at  Kitty's  door.  He  pushed  back 
from  the  table,  his  eyes  upon  the  door  through 
which  she  had  gone,  his  napkin  pressed  tightly 
over  his  lips,  his  attitude  as  one  who  listens 
keenly.  Maud  sat  back,  frowning  slightly,  crum- 
pling her  napkin  into  precise  folds  and  creases  as 
it  lay  under  her  hand  upon  the  table. 

"  Billy,  gentlemen  don't  make  scenes,"  she  said 
at  length,  gently.  Billy  became  humble  and  con- 
trite at  once. 

"  I  know  it,  sis,  and  I  'm  a  brute.  But  I  know 
I  'm  right  about  Kitty.  She  's  such  a  little  thing, 
I "  —  He  leaned  forward  as  if  on  the  point  of 
making  a  confidence  ;  then  glanced  at  Biznet  and 
drew  back. 

"  Your  aunt  has  been  perfectly  sweet  to  her 
always,"  went  on  Maud.  "  Why,  she  's  gone  up 
now  to  try  to  comfort  her  !  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Billy ;  "  aunt  Em  's  an  angel." 

Biznet  rose  quietly,  without  making  excuses  to 
Maud,  and  strolled  out  into  the  garden,  feeling  in 
the  back  of  his  head  that  she  watched  him  as  he 
went. 

It  was  late  twilight,  a  faint  smear  of  sunset  still 


170  ROMAN  BIZNET 

showing  beyond  the  St.  Lawrence.  He  sat  for 
half  an  hour  or  so  examining  an  unlit  cigarette, 
with  a  vacant  stare.  Throughout  the  garden  the 
roses  were  holding  their  last  court :  the  last  buds 
were  open  now,  and  with  their  odor  was  a  faint 
suggestion  of  the  decay  of  fallen  petals.  A 
light,  uneven  step  sounded  on  the  cinders  behind 
him. 

"  Rome ! " 

"Well,  Kitty,"  he  answered  gently,  without 
turning.  He  had  thought  they  might  drive  her 
to  him ;  but  his  cheeks  were  still  hot  from  his 
repulse  that  morning.  He  knew  now  how  fac- 
titious that  wooing  had  been.  She  was  his  little 
sister,  and  he  had  hurt  her. 

"  Rome,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  as  if  —  everything 
between  us  were  as  I  imagined  before  this  morning. 
You  used  to  be  so  good !  And  I  have  n't  anybody 
else." 

"  I  promise,  Pussy." 

"  Rome,  I  've  got  to  go  away  from  here.  I 
don't  know  what  Miss  Tracy  thinks  I've  done, 
but"  — 

"  So  the  final  row  has  come,  has  it  ?  "  said  Biz- 
net  sadly.  "  Too  bad  !  " 

"  If  I  could  only  die !  I  've  thought  about  it 
all  day.  Perhaps  I  'm  cowardly.  I  thought 
about  the  different  ways  to  die  —  and  then  —  the 
world  looked  so  pretty  from  my  window  that  I 
wanted  to  stay  in  it." 

"  Don't,  Pussy.     Was  the  row  about  Billy  ?  " 

"  Yes."     She  sat  down  beside  him  and  bent  over 


ROMAN  BIZNET'S  AMENDMENT          171 

with  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  They  called  me  an 
adventuress." 

Biznet  laughed  discordantly.  He  found  himself 
in  a  sudden  rage  against  Billy.  If  Billy  loved  her, 
why  did  n't  he  —  Biznet  would  not  have  submit- 
ted to  a  couple  of  women,  if  he  had  been  free  like 
Billy.  "  Who  called  you  that  ?  " 

"  Miss  Tracy.  But  I  think  Maud  gave  her  the 
idea." 

Biznet  sorted  Billy  and  his  sister  into  one  pack- 
age with  his  enemies. 

"  Since  I  've  made  such  a  failure  at  the  Normal, 
they  've  perfectly  hated  me ;  they  seem  to  think 
I  fail  on  purpose.  Rome,  you  don't  know  how  I 
tried  !  What  can  I  do  ?  Of  course  I  see  now  that 
my  plan  about  keeping  house  for  you  was  not  — 
well-bred  —  and  I  think  what  you  said  this  morn- 
ing —  I  think  you  worked  yourself  up  to  it.  It 
was  my  fault  for  having  been  so  stupid.  But 
couldn't  I  be  a  salesgirl  or  something  in  New 
York  ?  Or  I  could  be  a  servant." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  if  Billy  asked  you 
to  marry  him  ?  " 

"Yes,  — oh,  yes!" 

"  Why  did  you  refuse  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  n't,  I  'd  have  been  the  adventuress 
they  called  me.  Besides,  I  think  it  was  only  a 
fancy  on  his  part." 

"  You  must  n't  mind  my  asking,  if  I  'm  to  help. 
Did  you  care  so  very  much  about  him,  Pussy  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know  —  I  tried  not  to  think.  Don't 
ask  me !  " 


172  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  If  it  were  n't  for  Billy,  could  you  think  of 
me?" 

"  I  don't  know  —  perhaps.    You  're  all  I  have." 

"  I  'd  try  to  make  you  happy,  Pussy ;  I  could 
support  you  nicely.  I  have  been  thinking  I  could 
make  some  payments  to  Miss  Tracy  soon." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  said  Kitty  wearily. 

"  We  belong  to  Miss  Tracy,"  he  said,  half  to 
himself. 

"Yes,  that's  it,  —  bought  and  paid  for,  just 
like  a  couple  of  wax  dolls.  Oh  dear  !  " 

"  Well,  she  's  been  very  good  to  us,  you  know. 
Think  of  what  I  owe  her  !  " 

"  Is  it  more  than  you  can  pay,  do  you  think  ? 
Would  our  marriage  please  her  enough  to  help 
pay  it  off?"  Kitty  asked.  She  had  taken  his 
hand  in  hers,  dragging  and  twisting  his  ring  with 
the  red  stone  until  it  cut  his  finger.  He  took  the 
restless  little  hands  in  his,  where  they  still  worked 
and  twisted  between  his  palms. 

"  Yes.  And  it  would  please  me,  Pussy ;  I 
thought  of  it  long  ago." 

"  I  supposed  you  would  fall  in  love  with  Bess 
Heathway,  or  else  some  great  singer.  I  'm  such  a 
dull  little  thing!  —  I  don't  know  enough  to  ap- 
preciate you." 

"  They  say,  you  know,"  said  Rome,  "  that  people 
learn  to  care  after  they  are  married." 

"  Do  you  think  we  should  ?  " 

"  I  care  now.     Perhaps  you  would  learn." 

"  I  '11  try." 

"Then  shall  I  tell  Miss  Tracy  we  are  en- 
gaged?" 


KOMAN  BIZNET'S   AMENDMENT  173 

"  If  you  like." 

"  Will  you  marry  me  in  the  fall,  before  I  have 
to  go  back  to  New  York  ?  " 
"  Yes." 


CHAPTER  VI 
ADLOR  ENCOUNTERS  THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN 

THEY  did  not  linger  in  the  early  starlight,  like 
newly  plighted  lovers,  but  walked  back  slowly  to 
the  house  with  bent  heads  and  unsmiling  mouths. 
She  leaned  on  his  arm  with  dragging  weariness. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Kitty  suddenly.  A 
shadow  was  going  quietly  across  the  lawn,  paral- 
lel with  them,  and  gliding  stealthily  from  shrub 
to  shrub. 

"  It 's  Adlor,"  answered  Rome,  puzzled.  "  I 
thought  he  was  a  fairly  honorable  chap,  too,  but 
he  has  evidently  been  listening  to  us,  or  trying  to. 
Perhaps  he  wants  to  pay  me  back  for  that  scare 
I  gave  him  when  we  were  boys.  I  've  told  you, 
you  know,  how  I  drove  him  and  his  pals  out  of 
Miss  Tracy's  orchard.  I  sometimes  think  I  must 
have  scared  him  too  hard,  and  done  something  or 
other  to  a  piece  of  his  brain.  Even  to  this  day 
he  more  than  half  believes  I  am  a  loup-garou. 
There  's  nothing  so  easy  to  get  as  the  reputation 
of  being  a  devil.  Well,  I  had  lots  of  fun  out  of 
him." 

"  Adlor  is  *  one  good  boy,'  "  said  Kitty.  "  If 
Miss  Tracy  had  only  left  me  alone,  and  Mrs.  Or- 
leana,  or  somebody  like  her,  had  taken  me  instead, 


THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN  175 

I  might  have  married  Adlor,  and  we  should  have 
done  very  well." 

"  You  don't  mean  he  is  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  so.  He  sometimes  looks  at  me  as 
though  he  were.  Perhaps  if  you  had  n't  asked  me 
to  marry  you,  just  now,  I  might  have  gone  back 
with  him  to  French  Hollow  after  all !  " 

"  I  can  hardly  imagine  that !  " 

"  Well,"  Kitty  sighed,  "  Adlor  is  a  good  boy, 
and  I  don't  quite  see  how  my  wonderful  educa- 
tion has  made  me  so  very  much  better  than  he  is. 
I  hope  he  does  n't  feel  bad  about  me.  Those 
things  hurt  so !  " 

At  the  end  of  the  veranda  was  the  glimmer  of 
dresses.  "  It 's  Miss  Tracy  and  Maud,"  said  Rome 
in  Kitty's  ear.  "  Go  upstairs  and  I  '11  have  it  out 
with  them.  What!  Without  kissing  me  good 
night  ?  "  He  spoke  lightly,  but  with  a  shadow  of 
sternness  in  his  voice.  She  came  back,  and  turned 
her  cheek  obediently.  He  looked  at  her  fixedly, 
and  she  glanced  up,  as  if  not  understanding  why 
the  kiss  did  not  come.  "  Oh !  "  she  said  at  last, 
smiling,  the  merest  twitch  of  one  corner  of  her 
mouth ;  "  but  I  don't  see  what  difference  it 
makes,"  she  added  when  their  lips  had  touched. 

"A  mere  matter  of  form,"  said  Rome  ironi- 
cally ;  "  I  believe  it 's  a  custom  among  lovers." 

Kitty  ran  swiftly  upstairs  as  though  fearing  to 
be  called  back,  and  Rome  sauntered  over  to  the 
women  at  the  end  of  the  veranda. 

"Kitty  and  I  have  been  out  in  the  rose-walk 
this  evening." 


176  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  Miss  Emily,  with  a  guilty 
start  which  was  a  gleam  of  hope. 

"  Yes,  we  had  quite  a  long  talk,  and  I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  Don't  go,  Miss  Maud,  for 
I  want  you  to  hear  it  too.  In  fact  I  want  you 
both  to  congratulate  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Tracy,  trembling  greatly  ;  "  I 
—  I  —  with  all  my  heart,  Rome.  I  want  you  both 
happy,  I  'm  sure  ;  I  want  everybody  to  be  happy." 
And  the  little  lady,  shedding  sudden  tears  at  the 
end  of  her  scheming,  ran  into  the  house. 

Maud  congratulated  him  with  well-bred  sincer- 
ity ;  and  yet  —  as  they  stood  there  alone,  her  hand 
trembled  on  meeting  his,  her  voice  died  away,  and 
her  eyes  were  frightened  and  miserable  as  he  saw 
them  through  the  dark. 

He  watched  her  out  of  sight  with  a  satisfied 
leer,  then  lit  a  cigarette  and  went  for  a  stroll 
about  the  grounds,  chuckling  to  feel  what  a  fine 
fellow  he  was,  reveling  as  he  had  when  a  child  in 
his  mischievous  knowledge  of  the  world  at  night, 
his  companionship  with  its  mysteries.  He  had 
solved  his  problems  with  credit,  and  was  gay  with 
freedom.  He  felt  as  though  he  were  even  capable 
of  deciding  that  continually  rustling  leafy  debate 
of  the  branches,  silhouetted  grotesquely  against 
the  light  spot  in  the  sky  where  the  moon  was  ris- 
ing, and  wagging  solemnly  in  portentous  assent  or 
dissent.  They  had  gone  over  the  same  debate, 
and  the  moon  had  risen  just  so,  like  a  great  red 
fire,  in  that  same  notch  between  the  hills,  when  he 
was  a  boy.  The  world  seemed  to  have  kept  its 


THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN  177 

habit  of  youngness ;  he  saw  no  good  reason  why 
he  should  grow  old  himself. 

Turning  the  corner  of  the  house  he  stopped 
suddenly  at  sight  of  a  figure  like  an  Aztec  mummy 
sitting  stolidly  beneath  Kitty's  window,  its  back 
to  the  house,  rigid  and  silent  as  if  on  guard. 

"What!  Adlor  again!  'Those  things  hurt 
so ! '  eh  ?  Actually  crying !  " 

He  came  softly  behind  the  man  and  leaned  over 
him,  still  undiscovered.  "  What,  tears,  Adlor  ?  " 
he  asked  with  soft  mockery. 

Adlor  jumped  up  with  a  frightened  grunt. 
"  Loup-garou !  "  he  stuttered. 

"Yes,"  said  Biznet,  "same  old  loup-garou." 

Adlor  leaned  forward  threateningly.  His  hands 
at  his  side  were  clenched  and  he  breathed  stertor- 
ously.  Then  with  a  quick  motion  he  crossed  him- 
self, letting  his  fingers  remain  in  the  position 
known  as  "  making  the  horns,"  a  safeguard 
against  the  evil  eye. 

"  No  use,  Adlor,"  chuckled  Home,  highly  enter- 
tained. "That  don't  faze  me  a  little  bit.  But 
what  are  you  doing  under  Kitty's  window  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  doing,  loup-garou  ?  "  retorted 
Adlor  in  a  fierce,  snarling  voice  which  was  new  to 
Biznet. 

He  did  not  reply,  but  stood,  quiet,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  regarding  Adlor  critically. 
He  began  to  feel  a  trifle  sorry  for  him,  and 
vaguely  envious.  Why  should  all  men  except 
himself  find  it  such  an  easy  thing  to  fall  in  love 
with  Kitty  ? 


178  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Loup-garou,"  said  Adlor  again,  "  you  're  one 
bad  man ,  whether  you  're  a  devil  or  not.  Wat 
for  you  make  Kitty  marry  you,  hein  ?  You  don' 
lak  her,  an'  she  don'  lak  you." 

Rome  still  quietly  puffed  his  cigarette,  but  he 
was  getting  angry.  What  business  had  this  fel- 
low to  come  blundering  into  the  truth  like  a  June- 
bug  into  a  lamp?  He  could  see  that  Adlor  was 
working  himself  up  to  the  pitch  of  battle.  Adlor 
made  several  attempts  to  swallow  his  Adam's  ap- 
ple. He  was  trying  to  be  cool,  and  to  submit  the 
thing  peaceably  to  Reason  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  these  people  who  had  attained  immeasur- 
able superiority  over  him  by  means  of  the  mys- 
teries of  education.  "  Wat  for  you  act  dat  way  ?  " 
he  said  almost  pleadingly.  "  Wat  for  you  wan' 
make  her  feel  bad,  jus'  lak  your  fader  treat  your 
mere?" 

"  None  of  your  damn  business !  "  said  Roman, 
and  struck  out  with  his  fist.  They  clinched  and 
rolled  in  a  flower-bed,  snarling,  until  a  thunderbolt 
struck  them  from  above,  and  they  were  wrenched 
apart,  gasping  and  wriggling,  while  Billy,  tower- 
ing over  them,  with  a  mighty  hand  twisted  in 
each  coat  collar,  shook  them  until  their  teeth  rat- 
tled. 

"  What  the  devil !  "  he  thundered  ;  "  must  you 
two  Canucks  make  night  hideous  like  a  couple  of 
cats !  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  " 

"  Damn  it,  Billy,  you  're  no  peeler.  Let  go  my 
collar !  "  Rome  squealed  like  an  indignant  rat  in 
the  jaws  of  a  terrier. 


THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN  179 

Billy  gave  a  little  extra  shake  to  both  of  them. 
"  What  were  you  fighting  about  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  None  of  your  business,"  spluttered  Rome,  and 
by  a  skillful  twist  wrenched  free,  leaving  his  coat 
in  Billy's  possession. 

"Well,"  assented  Billy,  "I  suppose  it  isn't. 
But  I  'm  going  to  keep  this  place  free  of  cat-fights. 
Go  to  the  barn,  Adlor,  and  no  more  nonsense.  To 
be  fair,  I  don't  believe  you  were  much  to  blame." 

Rome  smiled  into  space  at  Billy's  remark  and 
went  on  coolly  remodeling  his  toilet,  brushing  the 
dust  from  his  trousers,  shaking  down  his  cuffs,  and 
smoothing  back  the  stringy  black  locks  that  had 
tumbled  over  his  eyes.  Billy  tossed  him  back  his 
coat,  for  which  Rome  thanked  him  courteously. 

As  Adlor  slunk  away  through  the  uncertain 
glimmer  of  the  now  risen  moon,  Biznet,  putting 
his  hands  trumpet-like  to  his  lips,  sent  after  him 
a  dismal  falsetto  shriek,  the  same  couplet  which 
he  had  composed  for  Adlor's  benefit  years  before : 

"  Oh,  Adlor  !     Oh,  mon  vieux ! 
Adlor  Santwire,  tout  perdu  !  " 

They  saw  Adlor,  a  wandering  ghost  frightened 
by  the  cry  of  a  fellow  spirit,  throw  up  his  arms, 
put  his  hands  over  his  ears,  and  run  unsteadily  to 
the  stable  door,  which  he  wrenched  open  and 
locked  after  him  with  a  bang. 

Even  Billy  felt  his  scalp  prickle  at  the  banshee 
wail.  "  What  in  thunder  do  you  mean  by  this 
performance  ?  "  —  regaining  his  hold  on  Rome's 
already  limp  coat  collar,  Rome  being  helpless  with 
hysterical  laughter. 


180  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Gentlemen  don't  scrap  with  servants  as  a  rule," 
went  on  Billy  magnificently,  laying  down  the  law. 

" Don't  they,  really?" 

"  And  now  I  've  got  you,"  continued  Billy, 
"  let 's  have  it  out  and  do  up  the  whole  business 
at  once." 

"  You  're  doing  me  up  pretty  fast,"  gasped 
Rome,  "  if  that 's  what  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  sit  down,  then,"  replied  Billy,  pushing  him 
to  a  bench,  "  but  don't  you  try  to  get  away  until 
I  'm  through." 

Biznet  sat  down  and  lit  a  fresh  cigarette.  Billy 
turned  away  from  him  and  was  silent  for  some 
time,  staring  abstractedly  at  a  dim  light  burning 
in  the  upper  story  of  the  house.  Biznet  followed 
his  gaze  with  a  smile. 

"  Come,  don't  be  bashful,"  he  said  encouragingly ; 
"  speak  your  little  piece." 

Billy  bit  his  lips,  staring  toward  the  house,  and 
then  upward,  with  a  sigh,  at  the  round  moon  which 
now  stood  like  the  halo  of  a  protecting  saint  over 
the  dim  orange  oblong  of  the  window.  The  light 
had  been  turned  quite  low.  One  might  guess  that 
it  was  left  so  while  the  occupant  was  at  her  prayers, 
and  that  she  was  overlong  at  them. 

"  Rome  Biznet,"  he  said  at  last,  "  there 's  some- 
thing about  this  engagement  between  you  and 
Kitty  that  is  n't  all  right." 

"  They  've  told  you  already,  have  they  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  met  Kitty  in  the  hall  and  she  was 
crying."  He  did  not  say  that  during  the  quarter 
of  an  hour  in  which  Roman  was  announcing  his 


THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN  181 

engagement  to  Miss  Tracy  and  Maud,  he  had  once 
more  been  asking  Kitty  to  marry  him.  He  had 
met  her,  as  he  said,  crying.  He  had  taken  her  in 
his  arms,  and  she  had  rested  there  limply,  as  if  too 
weak  to  care  or  resist.  Then  they  heard  the  chairs 
pushed  back  on  the  veranda.  While  Miss  Tracy's 
foot  was  already  on  the  lower  stair  Kitty  had  locked 
her  little  thin  arms  around  his  neck,  kissed  him  on 
the  mouth  of  her  own  will,  whispering,  "  Good-by," 
vanished  into  her  room,  and  turned  the  key. 

"  Then  I  met  Maud,"  went  on  Billy,  passing 
over  the  chronological  hiatus  in  his  story,  "  and 
she  told  me  you  had  just  announced  your  engage- 
ment. If  you  're  such  a  happy  pair,  what  was  she 
crying  about?  " 

"Possibly  she  had  a  toothache." 

"  Toothache !  a  lot !  What  have  you  been  up 
to?" 

"  I  don't  see  that  it 's  any  of  your  business,  but 
I  asked  her  to  marry  me,  and  she  said  she  would." 

"  You  can't  make  her  happy !  " 

"  Speaking  of  happiness,  is  n't  it  a  good  deal 
like  Santa  Glaus,  a  thing  to  talk  about,  but  not  to 
believe  in  ?  " 

"  You  won't  make  her  happy.  You  don't  love 
her." 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure  ?  It  was  for  saying 
something  about  as  polite  as  that  that  I  knocked 
Adlor  down ;  but  you  're  so  big  and  brave  that 
you  're  quite  safe  in  being  as  impudent  as  you 
like." 

"It  isn't  in  you  to  love  anything  or  anybody; 


182  ROMAN  BIZNET 

you  are  a  loup-garou,  as  Adlor  says,  —  I  mean 
you're  nothing  but  music,  and  Kitty  is  even 
more  tone-deaf  than  I  am.  You  will  hate  each 
other." 

Rome  spoke  in  a  quiet,  confidential  tone,  ad- 
dressing space.  "  I  am  getting  tired  of  being  civil 
to  you  on  account  of  your  fists.  Speaking  of  love, 
though,  and  granting  I'm  merely  an  unpleasant 
compound  of  loup-garou  and  music,  I  don't  see 
why  that  prevents  my  knowing  how  to  love." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Billy,  suddenly 
changing  his  manner.  "  I  have  been  rude.  I  'm 
sorry,  as  you  say,  that  I  have  such  good  mus- 
cles —  for  we  should  both  feel  better  for  a  good 
fair  fight." 

"  There  are  pistols,  you  know,"  said  Rome  with 
eyes  blazing. 

"  Pshaw !  This  is  n't  France,  or  melodrama. 
Here,  shake  hands,  and  let 's  act  like  men." 

Rome  hesitated  and  looked  curiously  at  the  out- 
stretched hand. 

"  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  'd  a  little  rather 
not,"  he  answered  quietly.  "  We  can  talk  as  well 
without.  Shaking  hands  would  symbolize  a  change 
of  heart  I  don't  exactly  feel." 

Billy  impatiently  drew  back  his  hand.  "You 
might  make  a  few  allowances,  I  think ;  for  I  know 
I  've  been  wearing  my  heart  on  my  sleeve  where 
everybody  could  see  it  and  laugh.  Rome,  promise 
me  you  will  be  good  to  her.  She 's  so  little  and 
helpless,  and  I  've  been  thinking  so  long  that  it 
was  I  —  You  might  be  unkind  without  meaning 


THE  LOUP-GAROU  AGAIN  183 

it.  You  talented  fellows  are  said  to  be  a  sort  of 
heartless  lot." 

He  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  turned  his 
back.  Rome  looked  at  the  tall,  athletic  figure 
with  a  mixture  of  envy,  pity,  contempt.  A  spasm 
of  pain  tightened  his  lips. 

"  I  will  be  as  good  as  I  know  how,  Billy,"  he 
said  at  length.  "  You  are  thinking  of  my  grand- 
father and  father.  They  were  a  pretty  unsavory 
lot,  and  I  don't  blame  you  for  being  anxious,  but 
I  'm  not  so  like  them  as  you  think  —  at  least  not 
in  all  ways.  I  give  you  my  word,  Billy,  that  as  far 
as  I  can,  I  will  be  a  good  husband  to  the  woman 
you  love ! " 

"  There 's  no  use,"  muttered  Billy,  his  shoulders 
heaving,  "  in  making  a  corkscrew  of  the  knife  after 
it 's  jabbed  in."  And  with  that  he  flung  off  toward 
the  house. 

Rome,  still  smoking  placidly,  watched  him  with 
something  of  that  stony  scorn  which  one  of  his 
ancestors  might  have  felt  toward  a  captive  flinch- 
ing at  the  stake. 

He  rose,  stretching  like  a  cat  that  has  lain  quiet 
too  long,  and  went  over  to  the  Heathway  grounds. 
There  he  laid  himself  down  on  a  bench  beneath  an 
arbor  vitae  in  deep  shadow,  and  propping  his  chin 
on  his  hand  watched  Elizabeth's  window.  He 
hardly  knew  why.  He  found  himself  imagining 
conversations  with  her,  and  asking  for  her  con- 
gratulations. Yet  as  the  two  of  them  talked  within 
his  brain,  they  did  not  say  much  about  Kitty. 
"  But  don't  you  think  I  'm  a  lucky  chap  ?  "  he 


184  ROMAN  BIZNET 

insisted,  eyeing  Elizabeth's  white  curtain.  "  I 
don't  know,"  said  the  imagined  Bess,  looking  pale 
and  sad.  "  Do  you  care  whether  I  'm  happy  or 
not  ?  "  "  Yes,  I  care  about  that.  You  've  seen 
that  in  my  face  a  good  many  times."  "Yes,  I 
have.  Did  I  see  more,  I  wonder  ?  "  "  No,  I  'm 
different  from  other  women,  you  know.  I  'm  not 
the  sort  of  woman  that  would  ever  fall  in  love  and 
marry."  "  No,  that  is  so ;  you  are  on  a  different 
plane  from  other  women." 

But  the  imagined  Bess  insisted  on  saying,  in 
one  way  or  another,  "  I  don't  know.  Would  you 
have  cared  for  me  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Kitty  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VH 

MIDSUMMER   MADNESS 

ELIZABETH  was  awake,  Roman  Biznet's  'cello 
humming  within  her  brain  like  an  insistent  mos- 
quito. No  matter  which  side  up  she  turned  her 
pillow,  there  it  sang,  fine  and  plaintive,  just  within 
the  hollow  of  her  ear. 

For  an  hour  or  so  she  reasoned  quite  sensibly 
about  it.  The  nerves  of  her  ear,  she  argued,  were 
remembering  sound,  as  one's  retina  keeps  a  vivid 
color.  But  a  white  night  is  not  conducive  to  mat- 
ter-of-fact self-diagnosis. 

She  went  to  the  window  at  last  to  cool  her  hot 
cheeks,  frowning  uneasily  at  the  dark  outline  of  the 
Tracy  house,  quietly  asleep  among  its  trees.  And 
outdoors  the  eldritch  strings  still  vibrated,  in  the 
drowsy  creak  and  chirr  of  insects,  in  the  long  sigh 
of  grass  and  leaves,  in  the  smell  of  passing  roses. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said  curtly  to  herself ; 
"  if  I  can't  sleep  I  '11  wake  up.  There 's  no  sense 
in  this  sort  of  thing." 

So  she  sternly  made  her  toilet  as  if  for  morning, 
except  for  arranging  her  hair,  nervously  snapping 
off  a  button  or  two  in  putting  on  her  shoes,  and 
remarking  bitterly  that  she  was  "  glad  of  it "  as 
they  flew  into  far  corners.  "  Such  nonsense !  " 
she  muttered,  as  she  bathed  her  eyes.  "  If  I  were 


186  ROMAN  BIZNET 

anybody  else  I  should  almost  think  "  —  But  even 
to  herself  she  would  not  put  the  humiliating  con- 
clusion into  words. 

The  solemn  pendulum  of  the  hall  clock  accom- 
panied her  quiet  footsteps  through  the  dark  to  the 
front  door ;  it  droned  midnight  after  her,  the  Tracy 
clock  agreeing  in  its  slower,  deeper  voice.  From 
the  warm  stillness  a  little  cool  breeze  crept  out, 
like  the  ghost  of  a  dead  childhood,  and  stroked  her 
cheeks. 

She  stood  for  a  while  by  a  rose-bush,  watching 
the  insects  there.  They  were  chiefly  beetles  and 
little  moths  whose  beauty  was  on  too  small  a  scale 
to  please  human  fancy ;  but  it  is  worth  lying  in 
wait  near  a  rose-bush  at  night,  for  sometimes  Roy- 
alty mingles  with  this  small  fry,  and  he  is  good  to 
see.  And  he  came  presently,  as  silent  as  a  shadow, 
lighting  upon  a  rose  so  near  her  that  she  could 
see  the  little  lamps  in  his  eyes.  There  are  few 
things  in  the  world  so  beautiful  as  a  lunar  moth. 
But  presently  he  wheeled  away  on  some  swift 
errand  toward  the  Tracy  garden. 

As  Elizabeth  passed  the  arbor  vitse,  she  peered 
into  the  blackness  of  its  shadow,  amused  to  fancy 
it  the  lurking  place  of  something  mischievous  and 
of  the  night,  even  looking  back  at  it  once  or  twice 
over  her  shoulder  as  she  stood  among  the  flower- 
ing shrubs.  She  stood  idly  for  some  time  beside 
the  white  blossoming  branches  of  a  syringa,  gently 
chucking  under  the  chin  a  flower  or  two  ;  stealing 
near  enough  to  the  busy  night  creatures  to  see  their 
little  red  eyes.  Quite  in  the  centre,  she  knew,  was 


MIDSUMMER  MADNESS  187 

the  nest  of  a  chipping  sparrow,  and  she  longed  to 
put  the  tip  of  her  finger  on  that  tiny  brooding 
head.  Was  the  little  lady  awake,  she  wondered  ? 
She  had  read  that  they  kept  their  eyes  open  all 
night  long,  watching.  Perhaps  she  was  even  then 
peering  out  in  alarm  at  Elizabeth  as  at  a  frightful 
nightmare.  Bess  felt  a  sudden  sympathy  for  all 
married  creatures ;  and  for  the  blind  featherless 
birds  within  the  bush  the  mother  within  her  awoke. 
She  turned  away  softly,  as  if  it  had  been  a  woman 
nursing  her  baby  in  there,  instead  of  a  bunch  of 
warm  feathers  hardly  bigger  than  her  thumb. 

She  thought  she  would  go  to  the  bench  under  the 
arbor  vitae.  It  would  be  a  good  place  to  sit  and 
think  about  things  for  a  while. 

As  she  pushed  aside  the  hanging  branches  that 
shut  it  in,  she  stumbled  backward,  with  a  faint 
cry,  and  Roman  Biznet  stood  up. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I  have  been  here  for 
some  time.  I  'm  a  night  hawk,  anyhow,  you 
know.  I  did  n't  know  you  were  taken  that  way, 
too." 

"  You  should  n't  scare  people  so.  I  —  I  —  You 
might  turn  a  body's  hair  white  ! "  She  was  twist- 
ing nervously  at  her  long,  disheveled  braids  to  get 
them  into  more  conventional  shape.  They  sat 
down  side  by  side  on  the  bench,  and  he  picked  up 
the  tangled  end  of  a  braid,  looking  at  it  closely 
with  a  little  smile. 

"  It  looks  all  right  now,"  he  said.  "  It  is  still 
yellow  "  —  he  brushed  it  across  his  cheek,  —  "  and 
it  smells  sweet.  What  do  you  put  on  it  ?  " 


188  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Nothing,  of  course  !  Let  go !  I  'm  going  into 
the  house." 

"No;  don't  go  in.  I  hardly  ever  have  any- 
body to  talk  to  in  my  night  prowlings.  If  there 
were  n't  any  people  to  be  waked  up  by  it,  what  a 
time  this  would  be  for  some  music  !  Those  little 
chaps,"  he  waved  his  arm  to  indicate  the  small 
fiddlers  in  the  grass,  "  they  have  it  all  to  them- 
selves, don't  they  ?  Don't  go  in.  I  never  before 
saw  anybody  mooning  around  just  for  the  fun  of  it 
the  way  you  were  doing  just  now." 

"  I  never  did  it  before.  I  could  n't  sleep,  some- 
way." 

"  Neither  could  I.  I  'm  apt  to  wake  up,  like  a 
cat,  at  night.  It 's  the  only  time  I  feel  fit  to  live." 

"I  think,"  said  Bess,  "I  can  understand  that 
feeling.  I  sometimes  dream  of  coming  out  and 
pottering  about  like  this  —  only  it 's  as  if  I  were 
out  of  my  body  when  I  dream,  without  any  law 
of  gravitation  to  bother  me.  There  's  a  line  of 
Tennyson,  — 

'  blown  along  a  wandering  wind, 
And  hollow,  hollow,  hollow  all  delight.'  " 

Biznet  nodded  approvingly.  "I  wish  I  could 
quote  poetry.  Do  you  ever  write  any  yourself  ?" 

Bess  looked  guilty.  "What  gave  you  that 
idea  ?  "  she  asked,  with  an  unnatural  giggle. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  might.  It 's  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of." 

"I  —  wish  I  could.  —  We  were  speaking  of 
dreams.  I  dream  very  oddly  sometimes.  Last 


MIDSUMMER  MADNESS  189 

night  I  thought  I  left  my  body.  It  was  a  bit 
drizzly,  you  remember,  a  nasty  sort  of  night;  I 
seemed  to  float  out  of  my  window  in  a  most  de- 
lightful way.  I  was  real  enough,  but  the  branches 
of  the  trees  seemed  to  pass  through  me,  and  the 
rain,  in  falling,  fell  through  me.  And  I  felt  fine. 
I  was  just  planning  to  get  above  the  storm  some- 
how, and  have  fun  with  the  moonlight,  which  I 
knew  must  look  pretty  on  top  of  all  those  clouds, 
when  I  woke.  You  were  still  playing,  I  remember. 
It  was  about  eleven." 

"What,  do  you  have  that  dream,  too?  It's 
something  like  one  of  mine  —  that  is  —  the  getting 
out  of  your  body  and  wandering  around  —  only  — 
you  seem  to  like  yours.  I  don't  like  mine.  Things 
chase  me.  I  'm  not  afraid,  exactly,  but  it 's  a  great 
bore,  you  know,  to  be  chased  around  and  fight  with 
things  you  can't  see.  Are  n't  you  ever  afraid  ? 
And  do  you  ever  have  the  feeling  of  two  people 
being  mixed  up  inside  you?" 

"  No.  It 's  a  dream  I  'm  very  fond  of.  Some- 
times I  get  confused  and  lost  for  a  while,  but  the 
places  are  interesting,  and  it  comes  out  all  right  in 
the  end." 

He  looked  at  her  uneasily,  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  throat,  as  though  something  had  tightened 
about  it.  He  quite  understood,  for  she  had  told 
him,  that  she  was  different  from  all  other  women, 
that  she  was  a  sister  to  all  the  world  as  a  nun  is 
sister.  But  the  air  was  heavy  and  sweet,  and  far 
away  in  the  mountains  there  was  a  murmur  of 
trouble  presently  for  the  quiet  leaves. 


190  ROMAN   BIZNET 

It  came  to  him  how,  when  something  had  been 
wrong  with  his  nerves  abroad,  and  that  idiot  Bauer 
had  given  him  morphine,  he  had  dreamed  of  dig- 
ging Kitty  out  of  a  smother  of  earth,  and  of  how 
she  had  been  Bess  Heathway  instead. 

"  Dreams  are  certainly  queer,"  he  said.  "  You 
say  you  were  alone,  and  like  what  you  quoted, 
*  blown  along  a  wandering  wind.'  I  could  fancy 
a  wind  coming  up  —  kind  of  Western  cyclone,  you 
know  —  that  could  pick  up  you  and  me,  bodies 
and  all,  with  no  more  trouble  than  if  we  were  a 
couple  of  dead  leaves.  —  How  warm  it  is!  The 
roses  smell  sweet  to-night.  A  good  wind  would 
clear  the  air." 

"  But  not  a  cyclone." 

"  I  don't  think  I  'd  mind  a  cyclone.  With  a 
cyclone  you  don't  have  to  be  a  thin,  vapory  ghost 
to  go  off  through  the  air,  and  —  we  'd  take  hold  of 
hands,  you  know,  and  hang  on  tight." 

Bess  was  fingering  her  braids  absently.  Pre- 
sently she  asked  in  a  small,  shy  voice,  "Would 
you  lose  all  respect  for  me  if  I  confessed  that  I  've 
tried  to  write  verses  sometimes  ?  " 

"  It  would  depend  largely  on  the  verse." 

"  I  sometimes  —  I  think  of  things  I  would  like 
to  hear  in  music." 

"  That 's  in  my  line.     Where 's  your  poem  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  nothing,  you  know,  —  only  it  might 
be  pretty  if  it  were  sung." 

"  Let 's  have  it." 

"  It 's  about  a  moth  and  a  rose.  It 's  rather 
sentimental." 


MIDSUMMER  MADNESS  191 

"  Go  ahead !    How  can  I  tell  until  I  hear  it  ?  " 

"  You  '11  make  fun." 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"  I  '11  write  it  down.  It  sounds  so  silly  to  re- 
peat." He  found  an  old  letter  in  his  pocket.  It 
happened  to  be  Kitty's,  but  he  did  not  notice  that 
until  the  next  day.  Bess  wrote :  — 

"  One  night  in  a  garden  a  -white  rose  woke 

(Sigh  for  the  beauty  a  breath  will  stain), 
And  oh  !    the  treasure  of  scent  that  broke 
(Sigh  for  the  sweet  that  is  sweet  in  vain). 

"  There  came  a  moth,  and  his  eyes  were  fire ; 

His  royal  wings,  like  the  leaves,  were  green ; 
The  king  of  the  leaves !  she  thought,  and  he  — 
Of  all  white  moths  he  believed  her  queen. 

"  They  were  dead  when  the  dawn  wind  found  them  there 

(Sigh  for  the  things  of  a  night  and  day), 
The  moon  was  paling,  but  round  and  fair 
(Sigh  for  the  things  that  must  last  alway)." 

"  Umm  —  yes.  I  get  your  idea.  Kind  of  rough 
on  them,  was  n't  it  ?  "  A  suitable  melody  occurring 
to  him,  he  hummed  softly,  somewhere  behind  the 
natural  harshness  of  his  vocal  chords.  "  It  needs 
music  to  bring  out  the  meaning  of  it,"  he  said, 
"  the  symbolism,  —  that  you  mean  a  man  and  a 
woman,  instead  of  a  moth  and  a  rose." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  did  mean  that  —  exactly." 
"  Well,  that  is  what  I  shall  make  it  mean." 
"  I  'm  glad  you  think  it 's  worth  putting  to  music. 
Was  n't  that  thunder  over  there  ?  "    She  felt  ill  at 
ease,  as  one  does  before  a  storm. 

"  Yes.     It 's  been  fixing  for  a  thunderstorm  all 


192  ROMAN  BIZNET 

day.  How  do  you  suppose  moths  understand  each 
other,  and  find  each  other  out  ?  They  don't  make 
the  sort  of  mistake  you've  indicated  here,  you 
know." 

There  was  a  subtle  vibration  in  his  hardly  audi- 
ble words.  She  sought  about  for  something  sen- 
sible to  relieve  the  situation,  but  nothing  of  value 
occurred. 

"  Who  knows  ?  Some  sort  of  instinct.  It 's 
all  very  scientific,  I  believe.  But  people  do  the 
same  thing  sometimes.  For  instance,  one  would 
have  supposed  I  knew  that  you  were  here  and  came 
out  on  purpose  to  talk  to  you  —  whereas  "  — 

He  jumped  up  to  walk  back  and  forth.  "  Damn 
it  all,  Bess,  what  are  you  trying  to  do  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Those  roses  —  they  —  they  go  to  one's  head. 
The  wind  you  were  so  anxious  for  is  rising." 

"  I  am  going  ih." 

"  No,  you  won't  go  in.  We  '11  stay,  both  of  us, 
and  let  the  wind  blow  us  where  it  will.  It 's  your 
fault.  You  said  you  were  n't  like  other  women, 
and  I  believed  you.  But  could  n't  you  remember 
that  I  was  a  man  ?  —  or  I  thought  I  was.  What 
right  have  you  to  call  yourself  different  from 
other  women  ?  Yes !  You  came  out  to  ine  here 
just  as  one  moth  goes  to  another.  And  that  was 
what  brought  me  to  you.  And  I  did  n't  know  "  — 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Done !  Oh,  nothing  !  The  same  old  trick 
that  women  play  "  — 

"  I  have  played  no  trick  !  " 


MIDSUMMER  MADNESS  193 

"  I  thought  you  a  sort  of  saint.  I  —  I  wanted 
to  be  a  decent  fellow." 

"  Rome,  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  But  it 's  got  me  by  the  throat  now  —  and  what 
can  you  do  when  it 's  got  you  by  the  throat  ?  Oh, 
Lord  !  what  can  one  do  ?  " 

Suddenly,  with  a  light,  easy  gesture,  he  seemed 
to  cast  some  responsibility  or  other  burden  into 
the  air,  and  turned  a  bright,  smiling  face  upon 
her.  If,  in  the  action,  a  subtle  degeneration  fell 
upon  him,  something  suggesting  the  way  a  snake 
flattens  its  head  before  striking,  she  did  not  know 
it,  for  she  could  not  look  at  him  just  then. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,"  she  said,  and 
put  out  a  hand  with  awkward  appeal.  He  took  it 
and  held  it  hard  against  his  cheek. 

"  Bess,  do  you  believe  what  you  're  so  fond  of 
saying,  that  a  man  and  a  woman  may  be  just  as 
good  friends  as  two  men  —  and  without  falling  in 
love?" 

"  Yes." 

Her  voice  was  weak  and  scared.  He  laughed 
and  drew  back,  making  a  gesture  that  invited  the 
rest  of  the  world  to  contemplate  a  folly,  then  turned 
upon  her  with  ferocity. 

"  Well,  I  don't,  and  I  think  you  're  a  fool,  but 
I  'm  willing  to  act  up  to  your  theory,  if  you  like. 
You  've  said  a  good  deal  lately  about  our  friend- 
ship. We  '11  be  '  blood-brothers.'  "  He  seized 
her  arm  roughly  with  savage  intention. 

"  No  —  oh,  no !  " 

"Afraid  of  blood?" 


194  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  You  know  I'm  not  —  only  "  — 

"  Well,  why  won't  you,  then  ?  'T  is  n't  so  much 
to  ask  of  this  cold-blooded  friendliness  of  yours. 
If  you  cared  about  me  as  I  do  about  you  "  — 

"  Do  you  care  —  like  that  ?  " 

"  Do  I !  And  yet  all  I  'm  asking  is  a  few  drops 
of  the  blood  that 's  been  through  your  heart." 

Her  reply  was  so  low  that  her  voice  was  obscured 
by  the  rustling  leaves  and  he  must  lean  very  close 
to  ask  her  what  it  was  she  said. 

"  I  was  mistaken,"  was  what  he  finally  heard ; 
and  then,  with  a  rush,  "  It  was  because  I  was 
afraid  I  was  going  to  love  you  that  I  talked  so 
much  about  —  our  friendship,  and  all  that.  I 
tried  to  believe  it  because  —  I  had  to  keep  you  in 
my  life  somehow." 

The  panic  of  shyness  overcame  her  again,  and 
she  shivered  within  his  tightened  arms. 

"  We  did  n't  make  the  world,"  he  said  defiantly, 
"  nor  the  laws  in  it  for  moths  and  people.  What 
will  happen  when  I  kiss  you  ?  Will  God  throw  a 
thunderbolt  for  that?" 

All  about  them  was  the  terrified  whisper  of  the 
leaves.  His  voice  even  at  her  ear  was  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable, seeming  made  up  of  other  sounds  of 
the  storm. 

Then  the  moon  was  obliterated  by  the  clouds, 
and  the  sky  crashed  and  blazed  as  if  the  gods  were 
really  trying  to  frighten  them  with  portents.  For 
he  remembered  how,  years  before,  he  had  kissed 
her  as  a  malicious  prank,  and  the  heavens  had  been 
angry  then,  as  now. 


MIDSUMMER  MADNESS  196 

And  yet,  to  see  her  face,  by  the  lightning,  smil- 
ing faintly  —  to  feel  her  in  the  intervals  of  black- 
ness, warm  and  throbbing  —  one  might  thus  dare 
thunder  and  lightning,  angry  deities,  or  men. 

But  the  breaking  of  the  storm  seemed  to  remove 
a  tension.  He  said  quietly,  "  I  don't  know  how  it 
is.  My  mind  feels  clearer.  There 's  lots  of  trouble 
coming,  I  suppose,  but  just  now,  someway,  I  can 
see  so  far!  And  in  the  end  —  I  mean,  the  end 
that's  somewhere  back  of  all  this  row  overhead, 
you  and  I  will  look  back  and  laugh." 

He  pulled  her  loosened  hair  about  them  both 
and  kissed  her  in  its  shelter,  then  let  her  go  back 
to  the  safe,  dry  house  just  as  the  first  drops 
splashed  them. 

He  stayed  out  himself,  lying  on  his  face  in  the 
wet  grass,  while  the  rain  drenched  him  and  the 
thunder  condemned  him  with  its  unanswerable  and 
vociferous  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord ! " 


CHAPTER 
AFTER  THE   STORM 

THE  storm  that  night  was  hard  on  the  birds. 
Nests  were  overturned  here  and  there,  and  where 
this  had  happened  there  was  no  song  next  morn- 
ing. 

At  the  first  watery  red  of  sunrise,  Biznet,  walk- 
ing in  the  Tracy  garden,  saw  a  dead  bird  lying 
in  the  drift  of  muddy  rose  petals.  He  picked  it 
up  by  a  slim  leg,  as  one  takes  a  flower  by  its  stem, 
and  placed  it  in  his  palm.  There  seemed  question 
and  complaint  in  its  inertness,  —  protest  against 
destruction  of  happy  things  that  do  no  evil.  "  I 
wonder  if  this  is  the  little  chap  that  Kitty  was 
telling  about  ?  "  Kitty  in  a  gay  mood  had  once 
called  his  attention  to  a  faint,  plaintive  note  float- 
ing from  a  high  tree  in  the  Heathway  woods. 

"  His  wife  's  making  him  wash  dishes.  Can't 
you  see  his  little  elbows  working  ?  And  he 's  dis- 
couraged. He  keeps  saying,  '  I  —  don't  —  see  — 
how  —  I  can  —  stan'  —  it  —  any  —  longer.'  "  And 
Kitty,  notoriously  without  ear,  had  somehow  caught 
the  pathetic  cadence  exactly.  "  Well,"  said  Biznet, 
"  so  he  does  n't  have  to  '  stan' '  it  any  longer  !  " 

The  aged  Susan  came  tiptoeing  up  the  path  to 
meet  him.  Susan  was  no  longer  shapely,  and  age 
sat  so  heavily  upon  her  that  she  seldom  had  birds 


AFTER  THE  STORM  197 

for  breakfast  now.  Deep  wrinkles  had  settled  be- 
tween her  yellow,  anxious  eyes.  She  received  the 
bird  thankfully.  There  happened  to  be  no  kittens 
just  then,  so  she  had  it  all  herself.  Biznet  watched 
her  grimly  as  she  ate. 

"  Sic  transit.  Yesterday  the  world  was  a  pretty 
good  place  to  him,  no  doubt,  —  plenty  of  cherries 
with  worms  in  them;  to-day —  I  wonder  what 
the  gods  had  against  him  ? 

"  I  wonder  now  if  Bess  is  asleep  ?  "  He  looked 
toward  her  window.  "  I  can't  see  any  particular 
reasonableness  in  my  being  alive  this  morning. 
Still  I  suppose  Kitty  counts  upon  me.  Honor  is 
a  queer  thing.  I  wonder  why  it  comes  ahead  of 
happiness  ?  Honor  is  a  pig-headed  sort  of  thing. 
Just  because  a  couple  of  women  don't  see  the  point, 
she  has  got  to  refuse  Billy  and  marry  me.  Now, 
if  I  were  Billy  —  But  come  to  think  of  it,  there 's 
some  fun  for  me  in  this  business,  after  all.  It 's 
*  so  interesting,'  as  Maud  says,  to  rile  Billy !  What 
an  ass  he  is !  If  it  were  n't  for  Bess,  now,  I  could 
take  solid  comfort  in  going  off  with  his  girl, — 
particularly  as  I  flatter  myself  I  can  make  Kitty 
happier  in  the  end  than  he  ever  could.  I  believe 
I  am  tired  of  music.  That  would  be  hard  luck ; 
there  's  nothing  else  for  me."  He  hurried  into  the 
house,  as  if  to  forestall  a  threatened  calamity,  and 
took  his  'cello  out  of  its  bag. 

Elizabeth  was  asleep  then.  It  was  late  when 
she  woke,  and  the  cool  freshness  of  the  morning 
had  turned  to  sultriness.  From  the  Tracy  house 
as  she  dressed  she  heard  a  faint  sound,  like  the 


198  ROMAN  BIZNET 

droning  of  a  night  insect  unaware  of  the  arrival 
of  daylight.  It  was  Rome's  'cello.  He  was  ex- 
plaining his  troubles  to  whatever  ear  might  sym- 
pathize. Billy's  hounds  in  the  stable  answered 
with  tears  in  their  voices. 

All  the  languid  morning  Bess  sat  idle  and 
alone  in  the  darkened  parlor,  watching  the  Tracy 
house  expectantly  through  a  crack  in  the  blind ; 
but  nothing  stirred  in  her  range  of  vision,  —  ex- 
cept Dr.  Winthrop,  whose  straw  hat  was  visible 
above  the  hedge  as  he  pottered  about  in  his  garden. 
And  there  was  a  fat  robin  getting  his  dinner  on  the 
lawn ;  between  runs  and  dives  he  kept  his  wings 
away  from  his  hot  little  body  and  panted  with  the 
heat. 

The  'cello,  which  had  droned  along  in  a  melan- 
choly way  for  an  hour  or  two,  broke  off  in  the 
middle  of  a  bar,  as  though  there  had  been  some 
interruption.  She  fancied  him  laying  down  his 
bow  and  turning  his  head  as  some  one  spoke.  She 
wondered  if  he  smiled,  and  what  interruption  could 
be  worth  the  stopping  of  all  that  harmony.  He 
would  come  over  soon.  She  leaned  forward  again 
to  peer  through  the  blinds. 

He  and  Kitty  were  walking  up  and  down  the 
veranda.  Billy  came  out  presently,  and  the  three 
stood  talking,  —  at  least  Billy  and  Kitty  seemed  to 
have  something  to  say,  while  Roman  Biznet  leaned 
against  the  rail  and  looked  over  toward  the  Heath- 
way  house.  It  seemed  to  Elizabeth  that  he  must 
somehow  see  her  behind  the  blind,  so  intent  was 
his  look.  Billy  shook  hands  with  Kitty  in  a  soci- 


AFTER  THE  STORM  199 

ety  manner,  and  then  offered  his  hand  to  Kome, 
who  seemed  to  deliberate  for  a  moment,  and  then 
put  out  his  own  carelessly.  Kitty  went  in.  As 
the  two  men  talked  to  each  other  Borne  grew  more 
animated,  until  at  last  he  threw  up  his  hand  with 
an  almost  solemn  gesture,  like  one  who  takes  an 
oath.  Then  they  shook  hands  again,  more  heartily, 
as  though  closing  a  compact,  and  Billy  went  in. 

Rome,  left  to  himself,  put  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, and  stood  so  for  a  moment ;  then  he  stretched 
himself  comfortably  in  a  steamer  chair  and  lit  a 
cigarette. 

"  And  there  he  sits  and  smokes,"  thought  Bess 
wrathf ully,  "  exactly  as  if  we  were  n't  engaged ; 
and  I  —  watching  him  here,  lovesick  as  —  as  —  the 
girls  I  thought  I  was  n't  like  !  "  And  she  was  so 
cross  at  luncheon  time  that  she  arrayed  the  whole 
family  against  her,  from  her  father  to  the  second 
girl,  who  gave  warning. 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  before  he  came.  She 
had  gone  back  to  her  old  seat,  where  she  could 
watch  for  him  best,  and  she  saw  him  come  out,  — 
a  cool,  dapper  figure  in  the  white  flannel  of  mid- 
summer. He  walked  slowly,  with  his  head  down. 
As  she  threw  open  the  shutter  he  looked  up  with  a 
smile,  and,  changing  his  course,  climbed  over  the 
veranda  rail  and  stepped  in  through  the  window. 

They  stood  quite  still  for  a  while,  their  arms 
about  each  other,  their  smooth  young  cheeks  to- 
gether. Then  she  told  him  in  a  confused  stammer- 
ing way  that  she  had  dreamed  of  him  all  night. 

"  I  did  n't  sleep  at  all,"  he  said  simply.     There 


200  ROMAN  BIZNET 

were  dark  rings  under  his  eyes,  which  were  heavy 
and  dim. 

"  I  heard  your  'cello  this  morning.  Why  could  n't 
you  sleep  ?  " 

"  For  thinking  of  you,"  he  answered  quietly,  — 
so  quietly  as  to  suggest  that  whatever  fiery  thoughts 
he  might  have  had  were  burnt  to  ashes  now. 

They  sat  down  together  in  the  window-seat.  He 
kept  her  hand  tightly  in  his,  but  leaned  away  from 
her,  —  his  elbow  on  a  marble-topped  table,  upon 
which  was  a  bowl  of  pond-lilies. 

"  Roses  last  night ;  to-day  these  pond-lilies.  What 
is  there  about  perfume,  I  wonder,  to  influence  one 
so,  —  to  change  one's  will  ?  Poets  are  always  talk- 
ing about  roses  and  lilies.  I  begin  to  understand 
why." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Bess  shyly,  and  nestled  toward 
him,  but  drew  back  and  grew  pale  at  the  trouble 
and  doubt  in  his  face. 

"  I  'm  a  bad  sort,"  he  remarked  sadly. 

She  laughed,  but  shivered  a  little  too.  "  As  if 
I  cared!" 

His  eyes  brightened ;  then  he  shook  his  head  and 
looked  away. 

"  You  don't  know  "  — 

"  Nothing  could  make  any  difference." 

"  Oh,  yes !  it  will." 

"  Is  it  —  is  it  something  that  will  take  you  away 
from  me?  —  some  girl?  Boys  do  foolish  things 
when  they  go  abroad,  I  know." 

He  laughed.  "  There 's  no  grisette  or  Icellnerin 
following  me  home  that  I  know  of.  But  —  I  wish 


AFTER  THE  STORM  201 

I  could  have  died  last  night,  —  it  would  be  such  an 
easy  way  out  for  all  three  of  us." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  all  three  of  us '  ? 
Who  is  the  other  ?  "  cried  Bess,  drawing  away  from 
him.  She  was  standing  near  the  pond-lilies,  and 
seemed  to  his  wretched  fancy  drifting  away  from 
his  grasp,  like  an  elusive  pond-lily  into  the  middle 
of  a  lake.  Looking  past  her  through  the  window, 
he  saw  Miss  Tracy  and  Maud  coming  over  the 
grounds  for  a  social  call  on  Mrs.  Heathway,  loaded 
with  the  news  of  his  engagement. 

They  heard  them  admitted  and  Mrs.  Heathway 
receiving  them  in  the  adjoining  room.  They  could 
hear  every  word,  —  polite  little  exclamatory  greet- 
ings, the  weather,  the  church.  Biznet  breathed 
heavily,  like  a  man  who  is  afraid  in  a  dream. 

"  And  oh,  my  dear,"  Miss  Tracy  said,  "  I  have 
such  a  delightful  piece  of  news  concerning  my  own 
little  household ! " 

A  purr  of  interest  from  Mrs.  Heathway.  Rome 
straightened  his  shoulders  and  lost  his  look  of 
fear.  Now  that  the  blow  was  ready  to  fall,  he 
could  meet  it  as  a  man  meets  death. 

"  Roman  Biznet  and  Kitty  are  engaged,"  said 
Miss  Tracy. 

Elizabeth  flushed  red  with  anger,  amazement, 
and  shame. 

"  Is  it  so  ?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

«  Yes." 

"  So  exactly  suited  to  each  other ! "  went  on 
Miss  Tracy's  voice.  "  And  per-f ect-ly  devoted !  — 
perfectly." 


202  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Heathway,  "  that  is  delight- 
ful, I  'm  sure.  Do  you  know  I  was  rather  afraid 
it  was  Billy!" 

"  Oh,  no !  "  said  Maud  placidly.  "  That  never 
would  have  done  —  never.  But  as  it  is  it  could  n't 
be  better." 

"  Certainly  not,"  assented  Mrs.  Heathway,  who 
was  relieved  for  reasons  of  her  own.  "  You  de- 
serve a  great  deal  of  credit,  Emily,  for  your  man- 
agement of  those  children." 

Then  he  changed.  With  a  sudden  hitch  of  his 
shoulders  the  old  goblin-like  impudence  reappeared. 
He  was  the  same  boy  who  had  cruelly  teased  her 
at  school,  and  he  wore  the  same  triumphant  leer 
of  those  old  days. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  trying  to  hark  back  to  her 
defensive  tactics  of  that  time ;  "  this  was  a  pose, 
was  it  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  have  gone  to  so 
much  trouble  to  hurt  me.  I  did  n't  know  —  there 
was  anything  that  —  could  hurt  so  much.  But  — 
I  shall  get  over  it.  Poor  Kitty  !  " 

She  was  very  pale,  bracing  herself  heavily  with 
one  hand  against  the  table,  and  trembling  so  that 
the  lilies  shuddered  in  their  bowl.  She  tried  hard 
to  smile  and  be  proudly  indifferent,  remembering 
vaguely  that  it  was  so  that  women  in  romances 
masked  their  shame.  Women  in  romances,  she 
reflected,  always  hated  a  man  who  treated  them 
badly,  and  hated  the  other  woman.  She  won- 
dered if  it  would  be  so  with  her.  She  did  n't  want 
to  hate  Kitty. 


AFTER  THE  STORM  203 

"I  —  I  shall  get  over  it,"  she  repeated  faintly, 
and  looked  up  at  him  pitifully. 

His  only  answer  was  to  kiss  her  once  more  be- 
fore he  stepped  through  the  window  to  depart  as 
he  had  come. 


CHAPTER  IX 

KITTT   AND   THE   FORNABINA 

THERE  was  a  febrile  uncertainty  in  the  family 
atmosphere  of  the  Tracy  house  at  this  time ;  Miss 
Tracy  keeping  her  room  with  headaches,  Rome 
and  Billy  pompously  civil  toward  everybody,  after 
the  custom  of  those  toward  whom  the  world  has 
not  been  behaving  in  a  gentlemanly  manner,  while 
Kitty  went  about  her  affairs  somewhat  pale  and 
with  eyelids  drooped  demurely.  It  was  difficult 
in  these  days  to  come  upon  the  little  Marquise 
squarely  face  to  face.  Billy  might  think  he 
heard  her  light  step  in  the  hall  and  that  she  was 
standing  by  the  window,  some  click  or  rustle  be- 
traying a  presence  there,  but  when  he  went  out, 
just  to  afford  her  a  glimpse  of  his  stern  and  heart- 
broken expression  as  he  passed  her  gloomily  on 
some  errand  to  nowhere,  a  door  would  be  just 
closing  gently  or  a  quiet  step  in  the  hall  above 
showed  that  she  was  returning  to  her  room. 

Except  for  Maud,  who  still  remained  as  good- 
natured  and  forbearing  as  ever,  one  might  have 
fancied  that  witches  were  about,  and  had  found 
no  sieve  or  horseshoe  over  the  Tracy  door  to  shut 
out  the  whisk  of  their  evil  wings.  Maud  would 
begin  genial,  impersonal  conversations,  such  as 
should  be  kept  crackling  like  a  cheerful  wood  fire 


KITTY  AND  THE  FORNARINA  205 

in  all  well-bred  households,  but  they  died  in  their 
inception,  like  the  flame  of  a  match  against  wet 
wood,  or  if  they  did  at  last  catch  fire  after  much 
patient  manosuvring  and  expenditure  of  breath,  it 
would  be  only  to  smoulder  and  smoke  with  mis- 
anthropy and  ill  temper. 

"  Come,  Billy,  let 's  sing  some  of  your  college 
songs." 

"  Throat 's  sore."  Billy  took  his  pipe  outdoors. 
It  was  a  moonless  night.  A  warm  wind  seemed 
looking  nervously  among  the  bushes  for  something 
that  it  could  not  find,  but  must  have  at  once  if 
some  calamity  were  to  be  averted. 

Billy  gone,  Roman  Biznet  rose  with  a  yawn  and 
returned  the  great  tome  of  the  Inferno  to  its  slen- 
der table,  which  vibrated  under  its  weight.  He 
looked  down  upon  it  with  a  slight  sneer  while  he 
lit  a  cigarette,  as  who  should  say  that  he  could 
have  given  Dante  and  Dore  points. 

"  And  is  your  'cello's  throat  sore,  too,  Mr.  Biz- 
net  ?  "  inquired  Maud,  with  mild  asperity. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  he  answered  blandly,  "  but  I 
broke  a  string  yesterday  and  have  n't  any  to  re- 
place it." 

"  How  interesting  !  You  were  n't  playing  yes- 
terday at  all." 

"  Well  then,  perhaps  I  did  n't,"  he  admitted, 
undisturbed.  "  But  really  I  wish  you  would  sing, 
even  if  we  don't  help  you  out.  It  might  put  Billy 
in  a  better  temper  in  spite  of  himself." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Maud  in  an  expressionless 
tone.  "  I  will  sing  things  that  everybody  knows, 


206  ROMAN  BIZNET 

and  any  one  may  join  me  on  coming  out  of  the 
sulks." 

This  was  a  concession.  It  was  her  rule  never 
to  admit  the  possibility  of  anybody's  being  uncivil. 
To  lose  one's  temper  was  ill  bred. 

"  As  freshmen  first  we  came  to  Yale." 

Her  well-trained  voice  sounded  querulous  and 
lost.  Biznet,  puffing  his  cigarette  smoke  out  of  the 
window,  watched  through  half-shut  eyes  a  figure 
pacing  aimlessly  the  various  paths  of  the  garden. 
And  at  the  end  of  the  veranda,  half  hidden  by  the 
wistaria,  lurked  a  little  shadow  which  only  his 
eyes  could  have  made  out  to  be  Kitty.  He  knew 
that  she  was  supposed  to  be  upstairs  working  on 
that  everlasting  trousseau,  and  was  glad  that  she 
had  accomplished  this  small  peccadillo  of  idle  ob- 
scurity. 

His  ears  were  shut  to  Maud's  singing.  The 
years  at  the  Conservatory  had  taught  him  that 
trick  of  stopping  the  keyhole  of  one's  brain  with 
cotton  wool. 

He  had  nothing  to  do  with  Eli  Yale,  nor  the 
man  who  had  six  cents  to  spend,  nor  Peter  Gray, 
nor  the  bold  fisherman  who  sailed  out  of  Billings- 
gate, whose  exploits  Maud  was  so  patiently  rehears- 
ing:— 

"  Oh,  lift  me  from  the  grass ; 

I  die,  I  faint,  I  fail. 
Let  thy  love  in  kisses  rain 

On  my  lips  and  eyelids  pale. 
My  cheeks  are  white  and  cold,  alas, 

My  heart  beats  loud  and  fast,  — 
Oh,  press  it  to  thine  own  again, 

Where  it  will  break  at  last." 


KITTY  AND  THE  FORNARINA  207 

"  Was  n't  it  Shelley  wrote  that  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  He 's  the  chap  who  was  drowned,  was  n't  he  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  sang  it  well." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely,  a  still,  cat-like 
alertness  in  the  turn  of  her  head.  His  back  was 
toward  her  as  he  sat  at  the  window.  She  rose 
and  took  a  step  toward  him,  half  put  out  her  hand, 
then  drew  it  back  clenched,  and  swiftly  left  the 
room. 

He  continued  peering  at  something  outside 
which  interested  him  enough  so  that  he  presently 
turned  out  the  light  to  render  himself  invisible 
and  extinguished  his  cigarette.  The  little  shadow 
had  left  the  veranda  corner  and  was  going  down 
the  path,  halting  now  and  then,  but  keeping  the 
course,  waveringly,  toward  that  other  pacing  fig- 
ure. 

"Poor  devils,"  thought  Rome  as  he  watched 
the  meeting  of  the  two.  "  The  song,  I  suppose.  I 
don't  wonder.  Seems  to  have  been  too  much  for 
Adlor,  too." 

The  coachman  stole  out  of  a  pillar's  shadow  and 
lagged  toward  the  barn.  He  had  not  seen  Billy 
and  Kitty,  nor  understood  much  of  the  song,  ex- 
cept that  now  that  it  was  sung,  it  lay  heavily  upon 
him. 

Roman  saw  the  two  face  each  other.  He  saw 
Billy  jump  toward  her  and  put  his  arms  around 
her.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  kiss.  "  Oh,  you 
cad !  "  he  muttered.  "  "What 's  the  use  of  making 
it  harder  for  her !  " 


208  ROMAN  BIZNET 

But  she  broke  away  and  came  running  back  to 
the  house,  almost  brushing  against  him,  going 
to  her  room.  He  heard  the  click  of  the  lock  as 
she  turned  the  key. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  and  laughed,  but  his 
lashes  were  wet.  "  It 's  a  queer  world.  It  is  cer- 
tainly a  queer  world.  I  don't  like  it  particu- 
larly." 

Kitty's  room  was  dark  but  for  a  rippling  patch 
of  light  from  the  street  lamp  sifting  through  the 
elms  and  maples.  Flickering  unsteadily  about 
the  walls,  it  had  finally  adjusted  itself  to  fit  the 
frame  of  the  Fornarina,  who  thus  contemplated 
any  one  who  looked  at  her  as  complacently  as  if  it 
were  daylight. 

"  I  must  never,"  whispered  Kitty,  as  she  groped 
into  the  room,  her  hands  pressed  to  her  burning 
cheeks,  —  "I  must  never  let  him  kiss  me  again. 
I  'm  going  to  be  married  —  married  !  Married 
people  have  to  forget." 

She  looked  about  the  room  wildly,  in  the  way  of 
a  trapped  animal.  It  is  not  a  bad  idea,  sometimes, 
to  be  theatrical  when  alone.  It  may  be  a  safe- 
guard. The  brightest  spot  in  the  obscurity  drew 
her  eyes,  and  she  saw  the  Fornarina  looking  side- 
ways at  her. 

"I  was  married,"  remarked  the  Fornarina. 
Kitty  went  up  to  the  frame  and  shook  a  small  fist 
at  the  handsome  face. 

"You  were  a  wicked  woman.  I  don't  know 
much  about  you,  because  I  'm  stupid  and  can't 


KITTY  AND  THE  FORNARINA  209 

remember.  But  I  know  you  were  a  wicked  wo- 
man." 

"  I  was  a  woman,"  smiled  the  Fornarina. 
"  Everybody  is  just  a  little  wicked,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  I  am  wicked,"  sighed  Kitty. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Fornarina  kindly.  "  You 
and  I  are  both  women,  you  know.  I  was  married, 
once." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Kitty,  twisting  her  fin- 
gers together,  "  perhaps  your  husband  was  n't  nice 
to  you,  but  I  am  going  to  marry  liomaii  Biznet, 
and  he  is  good." 

"  I  really  don't  remember,"  replied  the  Forna- 
rina carelessly,  "whether  my  husband  was  good 
to  me  or  not.  Another  man  was,  though." 

"  You  are  wicked.  Just  as  wicked  and  horrid 
as  you  can  be,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  look  at  you 
or  talk  to  you  any  more.  I  shall  take  you  down." 

"  Maud  Tracy  put  me  here.  Do  they  ever  let 
you  change  the  arrangement  of  a  room,  even  your 
own?" 

"  I  shall  cover  you  up." 

"  I  can  see  through." 

Kitty  placed  a  palm-leaf  fan  in  the  ledge  of  the 
frame,  but  it  only  reached  as  far  as  the  sidelong 
eyes.  "  How  silly  I  am !  "  she  laughed,  and  caught 
her  lip  hard  between  her  teeth  to  keep  from  cry- 
ing out. 

She  left  the  wicked  lady  smiling  at  her  over  the 
fan,  and  leaned  out  on  the  window  sill,  to  cool  her 
cheek  against  the  rough  stone.  Below  she  could 


210  ROMAN   BIZNET 

hear  Billy  tramping  up  and  down  the  veranda, 
and  could  smell  his  pipe.  She  even  heard  his 
groaning  sigh  when  at  last  he  sank  heavily  into  a 
willow  chair  which  creaked  with  his  weight. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  said  the  Fornarina,  who  was 
watching  above  the  fan,  "  I  'd  go  down.  There  's 
nobody  in  the  halls." 

But  Kitty  knelt  softly  at  her  bedside  and  clasped 
her  hands.  She  did  not  care  for  the  Protestant 
prayers  which  she  had  been  taught,  and  tried  over 
instead  the  few  words  which  she  could  remember 
from  Alphonsine's  repertory.  It  was  something 
about  Pater  Noster.  Then  there  was  Ave  Maria. 
And  the  Fornarina  flattened  back  into  a  photo- 
graph again.  She  had  posed  for  many  Madonnas 
in  her  day,  too. 

It  was  with  "  mea  maxima  culpa "  on  her  lips 
that  she  fell  asleep,  still  kneeling,  and  so  dreamed 
herself  a  child  again,  lying  against  Alphonsine's 
warm  bosom,  caring  about  nothing  farther  away 
than  to  finger  the  bright  buttons  on  her  mother's 
calico  wrapper. 


CHAPTER   X 

"  TWO  NATURES   WAR   WITHIN    US  " 

BUT  Roman  Biznet  did  not  sleep  that  night  nor 
the  next.  He  began  to  long  for  the  injudicious 
Bauer,  who  carried  about  a  tiny  cylinder  of  dream- 
ful sleep,  and  was  not  stingy  with  it.  And  on  the 
third  morning  he  looked  so  forlorn  at  the  break- 
fast table  that  Miss  Tracy  said  there  should  be  no 
more  nonsense  about  it  and  sent  Adlor  for  Dr. 
Winthrop. 

Kitty  and  Rome  had  the  breakfast  table  to  them- 
selves, he  having  been  late,  and  she  staying  to  keep 
him  company  with  his  coffee.  "  I  believe  you 
drink  too  much  coffee,"  Kitty  said.  "  I  've  watched 
you,  and  you  hardly  take  anything  else.  I  think 
it 's  horrible,  the  way  you  have  it  —  so  black  and 
strong." 

"  Bosh,  nothing  ails  me." 

"  Why,  you  said  you  could  n't  sleep  !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  —  that 's  conscience,  not  coffee." 

Kitty  smiled  affectionately.  "If  everybody's 
conscience  were  as  good  as  yours,  Romy,  this  would 
be  a  very  nice  sort  of  world." 

"  Um  —  that 's  nice.  I  wish  more  people  were 
of  your  opinion." 

"  People  don't  know  you  as  I  do."  From  which 
it  will  be  seen  that  Kitty  was  becoming  reconciled 
to  the  situation  after  a  fashion. 


212  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  ought  to  be  a  good  sort  —  with  you,"  he  said. 
"  Do  you  ever  dream  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

Kitty  looked  a  little  scared.  One  sometimes 
dreams  about  the  wrong  man.  It  is  hard  to  keep 
one's  dreams  demure  and  colorless,  and  if  you 
can't  help  remembering  the  Wrong  Man  ?  — 

"  Why,  of  course.     Everybody  dreams." 

"I  suppose  you  are  n't  superstitious  about 
dreams  ?  We  've  been  so  carefully  brought  up." 

"  I  think  nearly  everybody  believes  in  them,  in 
a  way.  You  can't  help  it,  you  know,  when  things 
turn  out  as  queerly  as  they  do  sometimes." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  play  Daniel  for  me  ? 
But  Dr.  Winthrop  will  give  me  a  liver  pill,  and 
that  will  be  more  to  the  point,  I  dare  say.  Those 
things  are  all  physical,  merely.  Do  you  ever  get 
to  wondering,  Pussy  ?  " 

"Oh!  don't  I?" 

"  Ever  have  a  pain  in  your  soul  and  wonder 
whether  it  was  indigestion  or  because  there  was 
nothing  there  ?  " 

"I  thought  it  was  a  dream  we  were  talking 
about.  If  you  've  got  a  pain  in  your  stomach  I  'm 
sure  Dr.  Winthrop  can  fix  it  for  you." 

"  They  say  if  you  tell  a  dream  at  the  breakfast 
table  it  comes  true  —  I  guess  I  'd  better  not  tell 
mine." 

"  Bess  Heathway  believes  in  dreams." 

He  set  down  his  cup  abruptly. 

"She  says  that  our  —  our  higher  egos  know 
what 's  going  to  happen  and  make  us  dream  alle- 
gories about  it." 


"TWO  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  US"      213 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  !  " 

"  She  says,  just  as  mamma  did,  that  if  you 
dream  of  dreadful  animals  and  things  coming  after 
you  it  means  trouble.  You  remember  how  Mamma 
Phosy  dreamed  of  cows  before  —  before  "  — 

"  I  remember."  There  was  a  twitching  at  his 
mouth  corner  which  seemed  to  pain  him  ;  he  put  a 
finger  against  it,  as  if  steadying  this  one  jangled 
nerve  might  bring  the  rest  to  order,  and  did  not 
meet  her  eyes. 

"  And  she  says  that  to  be  drowning  in  muddy 
water  means  trouble,  too —  I  don't  know  just  what 
kind." 

Dr.  Winthrop  came  in  then,  and  Kitty  went  up 
to  her  room  to  work  on  her  trousseau. 

The  doctor  felt  Biznet's  pulse  and  studied  his 
heavy-lidded,  dark-circled  eyes.  "  What  can  a 
boy  expect,"  he  complained,  "  who  does  n't  eat  or 
sleep  properly,  swills  black  coffee  by  the  quart, 
smokes  cigarettes  till  he  can't  breathe  plain  fresh 
air  any  more  than  a  fish  ?  You  might  take  pills 
until  the  end  of  time,  and  it  would  n't  do  you  any 
good,  if  you  did  n't  take  care  of  yourself." 

"  I  take  as  good  care  of  myself  as  most  fel- 
lows," grumbled  Rome.  "I  can't  help  it,  can  I,  if 
I  can't  sleep  ?  Dr.  Winthrop,  what  sort  of  a  fellow 
am  I,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  A  pretty  poor  specimen." 

"  Is  it  my  forehead  ?  How  much  is  there  in  the 
shape  of  a  man's  head  ?  " 

"  Not  much.  Not  as  much  as  people  used  to 
think,  at  least." 


214  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Ever  see  my  father?  " 

The  little  doctor  looked  attentively  and  long  at 
the  boy's  profile.  "  What  makes  you  ask  that, 
Romy?"  he  asked  gently. 

"  I  wondered  if  I  am  much  like  him,  that 's  all." 

"  You  think  too  much  about  yourself." 

"Am  I  like  him?" 

"  A  physical  resemblance  means  little." 

"Am  I  like  him?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  thought  there  might  be  some  difference.  I 
—  I  hoped  you  might  see  some  difference."  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  throat  as  if  his  collar  choked 
him.  "  I  did  n't  want  to  be  like  him,"  he  said 
wearily. 

"  You  had  a  good  mother,  and  a  good  environ- 
ment." 

"  His  environment  was  just  as  good  when  he  was 
young  —  McGill,  you  know  — and  all  the  rest." 

"  You  had  a  good  mother.  One  hickory-nut  is 
like  another  until  they  are  cracked.  I  am  no  seer 
to  look  inside  the  shell.  The  meat  of  one  may  be 
worms  and  dust,  of  the  other  whole  and  sweet. 
You  know  best." 

"No,  I  don't  know.  What  makes  a  fellow 
dream?" 

"  Coffee,  conscience,  drugs,  underdone  potato." 

"  Could  there  be  anything  else  ?  " 

"  It 's  quite  likely." 

"I  —  I  can't  sleep.  And  when  I  do  I  dream.  I 
don't  understand  things.  I  've  been  thinking  a 
good  deal." 


"TWO  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  US"     215 

"  I  thought  what  mind  you  have  was  too  soaked 
in  music  to  be  bothered  with  other  things." 

"  It  's  in  the  music,  too,"  he  said  vaguely.  "  I 
suppose  I  'm  just  not  well." 

*'  What  is  the  dream  you  were  speaking  of,  and 
what  has  started  you  to  worrying  about  your 
father?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  at  least  I  'm  not  sure  what 
started  it.  I  dream  the  same  thing  over  and  over. 
There  seems  to  be  something  wrong  in  the  room, 
a  burglar  or  something.  It 's  a  long  time  before 
I  can  move  to  get  up  and  go  for  him,  and  instead 
of  waking  I  get  out  of  my  body  somehow.  I 
hear  the  thing  breathing  and  think  it 's  going  to 
murder  somebody." 

He  stopped  and  bit  his  lip,  looking  furtively  at 
the  doctor. 

"I  sometimes  used  to  think,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  that  my  father  was  —  capable  —  of  murder." 

The  doctor  smiled. 

"  Oh,  don't  make  him  out  any  worse  than  neces- 
sary," he  said.  "  He  was  more  of  a  ne'er-do-weel 
than  vicious,  after  all." 

Rome  opened  his  lips ;  then  shut  them  until 
there  was  no  blood  left  in  them.  "  Perhaps,"  he 
admitted  at  length ;  "  but  I  knew  him  pretty  well. 
Anyhow,  in  the  dream,  after  I  get  out  of  my  body 
to  go  after  this  creature,  I  pass  the  mirror,  and 
instead  of  seeing  myself  there,  I  see  him.  Then 
I  am  him,  and  I  go  ahead  and  —  I  am  this  creature 
I  was  after,  too,  and  I  do  all  sorts  of  horrible 
things  —  and  enjoy  it.  Sometimes  —  it 's  blood 


216  ROMAN  BIZNET 

and  suffering,  and  I  do  harm  to  people  I  care 
about.  I  did  n't  mind  the  dream  so  much,  but 
lately  I  've  begun  to  feel  the  same  way  when  I  am 
awake." 

" '  Two  natures  war  within  us,'  "  said  Dr.  Win- 
throp  thoughtfully. 

"  Now,  my  father  did  n't  always  want  to  be 
bad.  He  'd  get  remorseful,  and  then  go  and  get 
drunk." 

"  You  have  n't  tried  that  yet  ?  " 

"  No.  It  used  to  put  me  right  to  compose  things, 
or  just  to  play.  But  lately  —  that  is,  since  —  I 
mean  —  it  would  be  hard  luck  if  music  were  to  fail 
me,  don't  you  think  ?  I  thought  maybe  if  I  could 
sleep  —  and  without  dreaming  "  — 

"  Have  n't  you  any  will  of  your  own  to  conquer 
this  thing?" 

"  That 's  the  discouraging  part  of  it.  I  have  a 
will  —  but  it  is  n't  the  will  I  have  now  —  I  could 
choose  if  I  would,  but,  somehow,  I  don't  choose. 
And  if  I  wake  I  'm  sorry  for  a  while  that  it  was  a 
dream  —  that  the  wicked  things  are  undone." 

His  voice  was  almost  inaudible,  dry  with  de- 
spair. "  Not  long  ago  I  —  did  —  injure  some  one, 
though  I  did  n't  mean  to.  Somehow,  since  then, 
I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  you  know  that  yarn 
about  Pandora's  box  ?  " 

He  met  the  doctor's  eyes  for  an  instant  with  a 
shadow  of  a  smile  at  having  found  a  simile  that 
pleased  him.  Bess  talked  in  similes  and  quota- 
tions. 

"Well,"   he  went  on,   "it's  like  that.     I've 


"TWO  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  US"     217 

always  felt  there  was  something  wrong  inside  me 
that  I  had  to  keep  a  tight  grip  of  or  "  — 

"Could  that  injury  be  repaired?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  No ;  it 's  spilt  milk.  I  did  n't  really  know  I  was 
doing  harm.  But  are  people  made  like  that  ?  Is 
it  fair  that  one  wrong  thing  —  not  so  very  wrong, 
either  —  should  throw  a  fellow  so  completely  off 
the  track  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  doctor  sadly,  "  that 
there's  much  question  of  fairness  about  those 
things.  I  used  to  have  all  sorts  of  opinions.  Now 
I  have  only  one,  and  that  is,  that  a  man  has  to 
put  up  a  pretty  good  fight,  and  not  feel  too  bad 
over  failure.  It 's  all  summed  up  in  that,  though 
I  might  spin  it  out  to  any  length." 

"  Yes,"  said  Biznet  slowly,  "  put  up  a  good 
fight ;  but  what  can  you  do  when  you  don't  want 
to  fight  ?  If  I  always  felt  about  it  the  way  I  do 
now  —  but  I  don't.  If  it  were  just  a  case  for  pills 
—  but  it  is  n't.  If  anything,  I  feel  better  physi- 
cally when  I  'm  —  when  I  'm  a  bad  Injun  !  " 

He  smiled  and  threw  out  his  chest  a  little,  as 
though  his  confession  had  shifted  a  load  from  his 
back  The  doctor,  on  the  other  hand,  grew  round- 
shouldered,  as  if  assuming  the  burden  himself  and 
helpless  under  it.  His  liver  began  to  wake  up. 
Eome  still  smiled  tentatively.  He  felt  that  he 
must  be  a  rather  unusual  and  interesting  specimen. 
It  was  pleasant,  too,  that  Dr.  Winthrop  found  him 
worth  sorrowing  over. 

"  If  pills  could  make  a  fellow  well  in  his  soul," 
he  suggested. 


218  ROMAN  BIZNET 

The  doctor  wrote  out  a  prescription  and  tossed 
it  over  with  an  impatient  gesture.  "  That 's  all  I 
can  do,"  he  said.  "  Sleep,  eat,  live  by  schedule, 
stick  to  your  music,  then  your  better  nature  will 
get  a  chance.  And  you  've  got  to  stop  thinking 
about  yourself,"  —  he  hesitated  and  looked  at  the 
boy  vaguely,  as  though  from  a  great  distance,  as 
though  it  were  a  difficult  thing  to  remember  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  youth,  like  something  learned  by 
rote,  long  ago,  and  of  little  meaning.  Then  he 
continued,  "and  wanting  things  too  much.  It's 
been  said  that  it  is  unwise  to  desire  a  thing  too 
much.  And  one  man  says  that  the  chief  danger  in 
desiring  a  thing  too  much  is  that  you  're  apt  to 
get  it." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  said  Rome,  with  an  eagerness 
almost  ferocious.  "  Who  says  that  ?  " 

The  doctor  eyed  him  narrowly.  "And  when 
you  do  get  it,  you  find  it 's  only  a  handful  of  dry 
sand." 

Biznet's  face  was  deeply  flushed,  and  the  fire 
fading  from  his  eyes  left  in  them  a  dim  and  far-off 
look.  His  hand  on  the  table  was  clenched,  his 
nostrils  dilated  with  his  heavy  breathing. 

"  What  I  desire,"  he  said  at  length,  "  would  not 
turn  to  dry  sand  in  my  fingers." 

"Are  you  so  sure?"  asked  the  doctor  sadly. 
"  Myself,  I  find  that  Fate  is  a  good  enough  man- 
ager in  the  end,  and  patience  is  the  only  thing 
worth  desiring." 

"  I  have  been  patient,"  said  Biznet. 

"  Patient ! "   said  the  doctor  wearily,  pressing 


"TWO  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  US"     219 

his  hand  to  his  side.  "  Come  to  me  again  in  forty 
years  and  tell  me  then  what  you  mean  by  patience. 
You  know  nothing  about  it  now." 

"Don't  I?" 

"  Young  people,"  mused  the  doctor,  "  have  such 
heavy  and  mysterious  sorrows!  What's  the  use 
of  taking  things  so  seriously  ?  But  I  suppose  they 
can't  help  it.  I  could  n't.  Stop  biting  your  lip 
like  that  —  it  does  n't  do  a  bit  of  good,  and  when 
you  draw  the  blood  it  just  proves  you  the  Injun 
you  are." 

"  I  'd  stop  wanting  if  I  could.  How  can  one 
get  rid  of  one's  self,  as  you  said  a  while  ago? 
How  did  you  do  it  ?  Since  you  know  so  much  "  — 

"  Only  little  by  little.  By  wanting  to,  and  not 
getting  reckless  at  failure,  by  taking  punishment 
like  a  man  when  it  comes.  I  knew  a  young  chap 
who  was  drinking  himself  to  death,  and  breaking 
people's  hearts,  —  he  used  to  hold  a  lighted  match 
against  his  arm  after  he  'd  been  on  a  spree.  His 
arm  looked  like  small-pox  most  of  the  time.  He 
fancied  he  could  mark  his  moral  improvement  by 
the  comparative  freshness  of  the  scars.  I  don't 
say  it  was  a  good  plan,  but  it  at  least  showed  a 
proper  desire." 

Biznet  remembered  that  when  the  doctor's  sleeves 
had  been  rolled  up  he  had  noticed  a  curious  white 
pitting  in  the  yellow  skin. 

"  Did  it  do  any  good  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  think  it  may,  a  little.  At  least  it  did  no 
harm.  You  see,  it  was  a  form  of  spanking.  He 
remembered  that  spankings  had  once  been  a  good 
remedy  for  jam-stealing." 


220  ROMAN  BIZNET 

The  old  man  mused,  his  eyes  shaded  with  his 
hand,  as  if  the  better  to  see  things  very  far  away, 
and  to  get  from  them  some  precedent  to  apply  to 
the  ease  in  hand. 

"  It  need  not  have  been  a  defeat,"  he  said,  as  if 
to  himself.  "Yet  I'm  not  sorry.  One  learns 
comparatively  little  from  success.  Success  is  just 
a  flimsy  bit  of  comfort,  candy  given  to  a  good 
child.  There 's  a  poem  somewhere  that  explains 
how  failure  and  success  have  got  each  other's 
names  —  not  a  bad  idea." 

He  came  back  from  his  brief  review  of  his  own 
mistakes  and  studied  the  boy's  face  carefully.  The 
Indian  was  there,  sinister  and  cruel ;  the  musician, 
wide  through  the  temples,  level-browed ;  the  mouth 
was  fine  and  sensitive  at  the  corners,  though  the 
lips  were  full — that  was  probably  the  French 
blood,  the  best  heritage  he  had.  Yet  perhaps  he 
must  go  back  to  his  savage  ancestors  for  help. 
Perhaps  his  weakness  and  his  strength  were  but 
two  sides  of  the  same  coin,  and  it  was  from  old 
Powasket,  or  rather,  from  some  old  chief  further 
remote  and  unpolluted  by  white  men,  that  victory 
would  finally  come. 

"  Eomy,"  said  the  old  doctor,  "  don't  fight  too 
hard,  and  don't  worry.  After  all,  the  problem  is 
mostly  a  physical  one.  A  strong  body  is  really 
strength  added  to  the  side  of  one's  better  nature." 
He  pointed  with  a  yellow  finger  at  a  cigarette  stub 
and  smiled  whimsically.  "  Let 's  see  your  cigar- 
ette case.  Ah,  I  thought  so !  Some  girl  wanted 
to  please  you  —  silver  —  monogram  in  turquoise 


"TWO  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  US"     221 

and  opals.  I  think  I  want  that.  Take  this  in- 
stead." 

He  put  the  pretty  trifle  in  his  own  pocket  and 
handed  over  a  well-worn  leather  case  full  of  cigars. 

"  These  may  be  immoral  —  Mr.  Wells  preached 
against  them  last  Sunday  —  but  they  're  not  coffin 
nails." 

"  But  I  —  it  helps  me  to  write,  you  know." 

"  Can't  help  it.  And  about  coffee.  I  've  heard 
how  you  go  at  it  —  always  with  coffee  things  in 
your  room  —  great  cup  that  holds  a  pint,  black 
and  strong.  Now,  tobacco  and  coffee  are  splen- 
did things,  but  they  are  n't  food.  And  you  must 
exercise.  A  saddle  horse  would  be  just  the  thing 
for  you,  better  than  a  bicycle,  for  there  is  some- 
thing about  the  feel  of  that  great  barrel  of  health 
and  strength  beneath  you  that  is  a  tonic,  or  ought 
to  be.  Why,  I  used  to  have  a  horse  —  but  he  has 
been  clover  these  twenty  years." 

"  I  can't  afford  a  saddle  horse,"  said  Biznet, 
flushing. 

"Then  take  long  walks.  And  see  here:  all 
these  moral  struggles  —  it 's  mostly  stratagem  and 
understanding  one's  self ;  and  then  one's  growth 
in  strength  is  surprisingly  out  of  proportion  to  the 
effort  made." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  for  I  know.  I  sometimes  think  that  any 
battle  at  all  is  in  some  sort  a  victory.  It 's  just 
to  keep  your  nose  upstream,  like  a  fish ;  to  keep 
headed  against  the  wind  like  a  bird  caught  in  a 
storm.  There  is  a  knack  about  it." 


222  KOMAN  BIZNET 

Biznet  smiled  rather  unbelievingly.  "  You  would 
solve  the  world's  problem  simply  "  — 

"  No,  nobody  does  that.  It 's  only  my  observa- 
tion of  the  way  the  world  solves  its  own  problem 
—  just  by  growing." 

In  some  indescribable  way  the  gloom  lifted  a 
little.  Dr.  Winthrop,  watching  as  if  to  observe 
the  effect  of  medicine,  thought  he  could  discern  a 
firmer  setting  of  the  mouth,  a  locking  together 
throughout  the  whole  body  of  muscles  and  will,  a 
smoothing  out  of  the  forehead  lines. 

"  Well,"  said  Biznet,  "  I  '11  try  to  behave  — but 
I  've  got  such  a  beastly  headache  just  now.  And 
can  you  make  me  sleep  ?  " 

They  kept  him  smokeless  and  coffeeless  for  two 
days,  and  then  much  to  Miss  Tracy's  alarm,  he 
insisted  on  rising,  dressing  for  dinner,  and  spend- 
ing the  night  in  the  hammock.  He  lay  back  on 
the  pillow  Kitty  had  gently  forced  upon  him,  but 
the  afghan  they  had  spread  over  him  he  rolled 
into  a  ball  and  flung  as  far  as  he  could.  He 
would  have  liked  to  worry  and  tear  it,  for  he  had 
watched  Maud  Tracy  crocheting  the  last  of  it 
when  he  first  returned.  He  would  rather  take 
cold  and  die  ;  in  fact  he  wished  he  might.  Then 
Bess  would  come  to  the  funeral  and  see  him 
stretched  out  pale  and  interesting,  his  face  white 
for  once,  and  his  hair  very  black  against  it.  His 
'cello  would  be  too  big  to  put  in  the  coffin  with 
him  —  why  in  thunder  had  n't  he  thought  of  that 
sooner  and  chosen  a  violin  instead  ?  They  might 


"TWO  NATURES  WAR  WITHIN  US"     223 

build  an  addition  to  the  coffin,  he  thought  lazily, 
but  there  was  a  line  where  romance  ended  and 
farce  began,  and  so  — 

He  felt  quite  comfortable  and  at  peace  with  the 
world,  thinking  of  Elizabeth  with  a  satisfied  smirk, 
and  that  he  must  be  a  pretty  attractive  sort  of  fel- 
low. He  wondered  why  he  should  have  been  so 
down  in  the  mouth  when  talking  to  Dr.  Winthrop. 
He  could  not  at  all  understand  his  own  mental 
attitude  of  the  last  few  days.  To-night,  at  least, 
he  was  himself ;  alert,  well,  mischievous.  The  air 
was  full  of  life,  tingling  with  music.  Lying  back 
in  the  hammock  he  beat  time  with  his  forefinger 
for  an  imaginary  orchestra  —  beckoning  up  the 
crickets  here,  the  flopping  of  a  toad  there,  the  dis- 
tant solo  of  a  screech  owl.  It  was  good  to  be 
alive,  and  awake  in  the  night. 

Then  he  curled  down  in  a  comfortable  position, 
drowsily  planning  great  things  for  violins,  'cellos, 
horns. 

The  trees  against  the  sky  seemed  spelling  out  a 
wonderful  score,  phantom  instruments  stood  about 
in  the  shrubbery,  and  he  harangued  their  shadowy 
players  grandly.  They  looked  up  at  him,  and 
their  faces  were  as  the  face  of  his  father. 

He  started  awake,  with  a  little  cry  of  fear.  The 
trees  were  trees  once  more,  and  the  wind  was  only 
a  wind,  but  there  was  moisture  on  his  cheeks, 
which  might  have  been  dew  or  tears.  The  impish 
joy  of  living  in  which  he  had  fallen  asleep  was 
gone,  leaving  him  sick  and  afraid. 

He  turned  on  his  face  with  a  heavy  sigh  and 


224  ROMAN  BIZNET 

slept  again.  The  trees  spelt  the  score,  the  phan- 
tom orchestra  stood  about  in  the  shrubbery.  He 
stood  up  before  them,  baton  in  hand.  "  The  Le- 
nore  Symphony  —  the  march  —  remember,  gentle- 
men, that  this  is  a  march  of  ghosts,  and  play  it 
so :  — 

'  Sieh  da,  sieh  da,  am  Hochgericht 
Tanzt  um  des  Rades  Spindel 
Halb  sichtbarlich  beim  Mondenlicht 
Ein  luftiges  Gesindel.'  " 

But  he  knew  that  he  was  asleep  and  alone  out- 
doors. Some  one  came  out  of  the  shadows  and 
bent-  over  him.  He  scurried  back  from  his  orches- 
tra to  wake  himself  up,  but  it  could  not  be  done. 
Nearer  and  nearer  the  figure  bent,  and  still  he 
could  not  stir.  It  departed  finally,  and  then  he 
slept  dreamlessly  until  morning. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  PRECEDENT  WHICH  DOES  NOT  APPLY 

MIDSUMMER  was  green  and  drowsy  throughout 
the  land,  having  lost  the  romance  of  those  flowers 
that  grow  of  their  own  desire,  unless  one  cares  for 
such  weedy  things  as  daisies  and  yarrow.  In  the 
woods  great  brakes  replaced  trilliums  and  adder- 
tongues,  spreading  their  umbrellas  over  the  wasted 
brook  that  it  might  not  perish.  The  thrill  of  pre- 
paration was  over  for  the  year,  only  a  dull  waiting 
in  the  heat  for  the  fruit  time,  a  beginning  of  the 
decay  of  such  things  as  bore  no  fruit,  having  been 
spendthrift  in  the  matter  of  leaves. 

It  was  a  time  for  sitting  about  in  cool  clothing, 
meditating  and  gossiping  if  you  were  old  or  mid- 
dle aged,  getting  into  idle  mischief  if  you  were 
young.  Some  of  the  Cosmos  people  spend  these 
lifeless  days  at  their  lake  cottages,  and  there  one 
can  row  about  on  the  never  stagnant  water  and 
listen  to  whatever  remarks  the  never  dying  pines 
may  make.  The  lake  and  the  pines  are  judicious 
counselors  if  one  is  bewildered.  They  echo  and 
reecho  any  wise  conclusion  one  comes  to,  and  take 
no  notice  of  a  foolish  one  except  to  sigh  and  laugh 
until  its  foolishness  becomes  apparent.  Pines  and 
lake  were  visible  from  Elizabeth's  window  as  she 
lay  ill  for  a  while.  But  she  was  too  young  and 


226  ROMAN  BIZNET 

impatient  to  lie  there  long  with  the  lake  laughing 
and  the  pines  sighing  at  the  very  notion  of  being 
disappointed  or  discontented  about  any  matter.  In 
three  weeks  she  found  it  worth  while  to  investi- 
gate a  robin's  family  in  one  of  the  pine-trees,  hav- 
ing become  interested  in  their  rearing  from  her 
window,  and  then,  the  lake  being  near  with  its 
ripple  of  quiet  merriment,  rowing  about  in  a  boat 
seemed  more  sensible  than  lying  in  bed.  One 
could  see  the  sunsets  better,  and  if  one  lay  quietly 
on  the  oars,  queer  birds  were  likely  to  appear  in 
the  submerged  treetops  and  say  pleasant  things 
with  unexpected  quirks  and  chuckles.  She  be- 
came quite  interested  in  trying  to  decide  whether 
it  was  the  more  desirable  to  be  an  ornithologist, 
an  entomologist,  or  a  botanist. 

The  Tracys  stayed  in  Cosmos,  the  women  sew- 
ing on  Kitty's  wardrobe.  Most  of  the  work  was 
done  behind  the  vines  of  the  veranda,  while  Rome 
looked  on  with  a  serious  air  and  played  his  'cello, 
or  smoked  quietly,  studying  space  with  an  ab- 
stracted frown  that  suggested  musical  puzzles  be- 
ing worked  out  in  his  curious  brain. 

Kitty,  Miss  Tracy,  and  a  seamstress  had  been 
working  eagerly  on  a  pink  affair,  while  Maud  read 
aloud  from  a  magazine.  She  read  well,  in  a  placid 
voice  that  suggested  elocution  lessons  from  some 
good  teacher.  After  a  flurry  of  departure  within 
doors  for  the  purpose  of  "  trying  on,"  Biznet  took 
up  the  book  and  opened  it  at  random  to  a  rather 
interesting  picture  of  the  uniforms  and  hoopskirts 


A  PRECEDENT  WHICH  DOES  NOT  APPLY    227 

of  war  times.  A  black-robed  girl  seemed  spurn- 
ing a  gallant  looking  fellow  in  shoulder  straps. 
There  was  a  suggestion  of  moonlight,  mystery,  and 
unhappiness  that  promised  well. 

"  Is  that  an  interesting  story  ?  "  Kitty  asked. 
She  had  returned  without  his  hearing  her.  Sew- 
ing was  dismissed  for  the  day. 

"It  interested  me."  He  wore  the  blank,  sur- 
prised expression  of  one  who  sees  some  important 
matter  in  an  unexpected  light. 

"What 'sit  about?" 

"  About  a  girl  that  would  n't  marry  a  fellow  be- 
cause his  father  killed  hers  in  the  Civil  War. 
What  do  you  think  of  the  girl's  mental  attitude, 
Pussy?" 

"Would  depend  on  how  much  she  thought  of 
the  man,"  said  Kitty,  languidly  judicial,  "and  on 
how  much  she  thought  of  her  father,  and  oh,  on 
lots  of  other  things." 

"  I  should  have  supposed  —  I  don't  see  what  the 
old  gentlemen  had  to  do  with  it.  They  did  n't  '  go 
for  to  do  it.'  " 

"I  guess  somebody  wanted  to  write  a  story," 
said  Kitty  carelessly. 

"  Now  to  emphasize  that  situation  a  little,"  said 
Biznet,  studying  Kitty's  plaintive  little  profile  with 
interest,  "  if  it  had  been  murder  —  if  the  young 
chap's  father  had  killed  the  girl's  father  in  cold 
blood,  would  the  girl's  ideas  be  inevitable  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  It  would  depend  upon  the 
girl." 

"  Suppose  you  were  the  girl?" 


228  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"I  don't  like  to  talk  about  murders,  Romy. 
I  shouldn't  think  you  would,  either."  Her  lip 
trembled. 

Was  there  no  way  to  make  her  reply  to  an 
hypothetical  question?  Did  Alphonsine's  ghost 
stand  between  them  ?  And  if  it  did  ? 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 
asked  Kitty. 

"  This  story  interested  me  very  much.  I  thought 
you  might  be  willing  to  talk  about  it  with  me." 

"  Why,  I  'm  willing.  I  only  thought  it  was  the 
sort  of  subject  that  you  and  I  avoided." 

"  But  not  because  it  does  n't  interest  us !  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  grave  attention  now, 
and  nodded  her  head  with  a  wise  air,  as  one  who 
holds  the  key  of  some  perplexity. 

"  I  know  what  you  're  going  to  say,  I  think.  Is 
it  about  mamma  ?  Is  it  who  killed  her  ?  " 

He  stared. 

"  You  need  n't  mind,  for  I  guessed  long  ago.  Of 
course  I  was  n't  sure,  and  I  did  n't  like  to  speak 
to  you  about  it,  though  I  've  often  wondered  if  you 
did  n't  think  as  I  did." 

"  You  cared  enough  about  me  —  about  my  fu- 
ture?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  put  it  that  way,  but  that 
may  have  been  why.  I  did  n't  think  it  out  until 
after  you  went  abroad.  And  then  it  all  seemed 
so  long  ago,  and  you  were  all  I  had.  He  had 
killed  your  mother,  too.  It  made  no  difference 
about  my  feeling  for  you.  While  you  were  abroad 
I  read  something  in  a  Montreal  paper.  I  thought 


A  PRECEDENT  WHICH  DOES  NOT  APPLY    229 

first  I  would  send  it  to  you.  Then  I  did  n't  see 
the  use." 

"  I  'd  been  hoping  he  was  dead,"  said  Borne. 

"I  think  he  is,  Romy.  There  was  a  fiddler 
named  Tony  who  played  at  a  habitant  wedding 
and  —  and  insulted  the  bride,  you  know,  —  and 
they  chopped  his  head  open." 

Biznet  laughed  without  mirth.  "  I  don't  won- 
der you  thought  that  filled  the  bill.  Probably  it 
was  my  noble  father.  We  '11  hope  it  was.  But 
suppose  it  was  n't,  Kitty  ?  Suppose  when  we  get 
prosperous  he  should  come  around  and  try  black- 
mail —  what  should  we  do  ?  Hang  him  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  time  to  decide  that  when  he  comes," 
said  Kitty  sagely.  "  But  I  think  he 's  dead." 

"  No,"  said  Biznet,  "  not  quite  dead  as  long  as 
/live." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Winthrop  says  I  'm  like  him,  that 's  all." 

"  Nonsense !  Dr.  Winthrop  knows  a  good  deal, 
but  not  everything.  Do  you  think  I  'd  marry  you 
if  you  were  like  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  don 't  know.  Tony  used  to  be  able  to  make 
women  believe  in  him.  There  was  more  than  one 
woman  who  would  have  cut  off  her  ears  for  Tony, 
when  he  had  on  pretty  clothes  and  pretended  to 
be  a  gentleman.  I  can  remember  that  much,  kid 
as  I  was." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Kitty  contemptuously,  "  I  'm 
not  attracted  to  you  in  that  sort  of  way  at  all. 
You  can't  scare  me  with  your  badness  after  being 
good  so  long.  I  think  I  '11  go  into  the  garden  and 
get  some  carnations  for  the  dinner  table." 


230  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Biznet  leaned  back  in  the  steamer  chair,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head.  The  droning  afternoon 
grew  remote,  and  he  shut  his  eyes  with  a  greater 
feeling  of  peace  than  he  had  known  for  some  time. 
It  is  pleasant  to  be  believed  in.  One  feels  more 
of  a  man,  somehow,  and  one's  faults  do  not  seem 
so  overwhelming. 

A  little  breeze  rustled  over  the  grass  like  a  trail- 
ing skirt,  or  was  it  a  trailing  skirt  that  stopped 
near  him? 

"Where's  Kitty?" 

He  looked  up  quickly.  Bess  was  there.  Her 
face  was  turned  aside,  but  did  not  seem  shy  or 
ashamed  —  rather  as  if  avoiding  some  noisome  and 
repulsive  thing ;  there  were  dignity  and  contempt, 
immeasurable  aloofness.  She  was  pale  and  thin, 
and  her  dress  had  become  careless  again. 

"  Kitty  is  in  the  garden,"  he  said. 

"  I  came  to  congratulate  her,"  said  Bess,  with  a 
slight  smile  that  set  his  cheeks  on  fire.  "  It 's 
nearly  two  months  since  I  heard  of  the  engage- 
ment ;  I  don't  know  what  she  '11  think.  I  have 
been  away,  and  I  was  ill  for  a  while." 

"111?" 

"  After  our  attempt  at  melodrama." 

"  I  only  heard  you  had  gone  away.    I  am  sorry." 

"Are  you?  I  had  supposed  it  would  please 
you.  I  hope  Kitty  will  have  better  luck." 

"  It  does  please  me,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  in 
a  way  that  she  could  not  face,  but  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders  with  some  bravado  as  she  turned 
away. 


A  PRECEDENT  WHICH  DOES  NOT  APPLY    231 

"I  wish  I  believed  in  you  enough  to  think  it 
worth  while  to  ask  you  to  be  good  to  her.  But  I 
don't." 

When  she  was  gone  he  walked  up  and  down 
restlessly,  with  a  foolish  desire  to  follow.  Not 
that  there  was  anything  further  to  be  said  nor  any 
comfort,  now,  in  her  presence.  He  turned  whither 
the  invisible  ropes  were  pulling,  first  picking  up 
the  abandoned  magazine  to  give  some  color  of  non- 
chalance, and  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the  path, 
where  he  could  watch  at  the  other  end  Elizabeth's 
white  umbrella  and  the  sweep  of  her  white  gown 
on  the  grass  as  she  sat  by  Kitty. 

Presently  they  rose  and  without  turning  toward 
him  strolled  arm  in  arm  toward  the  downward 
slope  leading  to  the  Heathway  woods. 

He  returned  to  the  story  of  which  he  and  Kitty 
had  been  talking,  and  read  it  again  with  mental 
comments.  The  black-robed  girl  spurning  her 
Northern  lover  seemed  a  stagy  minx,  and  human 
nature  more  complex  than  literature  would  have 
us  believe. 

He  let  the  book  fall  to  the  path,  and  leaned  back 
with  his  hands  behind  his  head,  his  cap  visor  pulled 
down.  The  trailing  of  a  skirt  upon  near-by  grass 
startled  him  with  the  notion  that  Bess  was  coming 
toward  him  again.  But  it  was  Kitty  this  time, 
returning  alone  from  the  Heathway  woods.  "  How 
thin  Bess  has  grown !  "  she  said  thoughtfully,  sit- 
ting down  beside  him.  "And  how  much  nicer 
than  she  used  to  be !  I  used  to  think  she  was 
noisy  and  conceited,  though  she  was  always  gener- 


232  ROMAN  BIZNET 

ous.  Now  —  I  wonder  what  has  changed  her 
so?" 

"  She  has  been  ill,  I  understand." 

"  Yes,  while  they  were  at  the  Lake.  She  says 
her  hair  is  all  coming  out.  I  promised  to  make 
her  some  sage  tea." 

"Sage  tea?     What  for?" 

"  It  keeps  the  hair  from  coming  out.  You  rub 
it  in.  She  has  such  pretty  hair !  It  would  be  a 
great  pity.  I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at !  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE 

IN  the  cool  of  a  late  August  morning  Miss  Tracy 
and  Maud  were  together  on  the  veranda,  Maud 
with  the  family  stockings,  Miss  Tracy  mending  a 
three-cornered  tear  in  the  sleeve  of  Roman  Biz- 
net's  coat.  She  daintily  abstracted  the  remains  of 
something  crumbled  to  dust. 

"  Those  nasty  cigarettes !  And  he  knows  I  don't 
like  him  to  smoke." 

"  But  he  says  it  helps  him  in  his  music,"  said 
Maud,  lifting  an  eyebrow  with  humorous  incredu- 
lity. Natures  constructed  like  a  thermopile,  vibrat- 
ing to  the  heat  of  moon  and  stars,  their  emotions 
fed  by  a  cigarette,  puzzle  those  of  strong  character, 
but  are  amusing  and  interesting  to  meddle  with, 
like  any  other  delicate  machinery. 

"And  of  course,"  said  Maud,  "we  don't  want 
to  interfere  in  any  way  with  that." 

"  I  thought  when  he  came  back  last  June  he  was 
really  going  to  be  a  gentleman  at  last,"  said  Miss 
Tracy  plaintively.  "  I  thought  his  life  abroad  had 
done  that  for  him.  But  he  's  showing  his  ancestry. 
Half  the  time  he  even  forgets  to  say  good-morn- 


ing! 


Strange,"  said  Maud,  "  how  blood  and  breeding 


234  ROMAN  BIZNET 

will  tell,  in  spite  of  genius  and  accidental  advan- 
tages, —  as  in  the  case  of  the  Conto  girl." 

Miss  Tracy  looked  troubled.  "  I  am  sometimes 
afraid  I  have  been  unjust.  I  never  dreamed  of 
her  scheming  about  Billy  until  you  mentioned  it. 
My  life  has  n't  been  particularly  easy  since  I  took 
those  children,  Maud." 

"  I  know." 

"  Duty  is  an  unsatisfactory  thing.  It  is  like  "  — 
she  burst  out  passionately  with  a  simile  she  had 
read  somewhere  —  "  it  is  like  dry  sand  to  a  hungry, 
thirsty  soul !  " 

"  And  you  have  never  questioned  it 's  being 
your  duty  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  thought  then  the  Lord  meant 
it  so.  But  mother  used  to  say  I  always  went  to 
extremes." 

"  Extremes  of  kindness,  perhaps,"  said  Maud 
gently.  She  laid  down  her  work  and  sat  back  in 
her  chair,  holding  up  her  hand  in  a  ray  of  sun- 
light, studying  the  facets  of  an  old-fashioned  ame- 
thyst ring,  as  was  her  habit  when  pondering  deeply. 
It  may  have  been  the  reflection  of  the  vine-leaves 
that  made  her  eyes  green  at  that  moment ;  and 
there  was  a  hint  of  satisfaction  in  her  expression. 
Miss  Tracy  returned  to  the  examination  of  Rome's 
coat  pockets. 

"  It 's  odd  how  men  and  boys  will  carry  around 
old  messes  in  their  pockets.  Here 's  a  whole  coil 
of  broken  cat-gut.  Why  does  n't  he  throw  it  away  ? 
And  here  's  a  woman's  handkerchief." 

"  How  interesting ! " 


A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE  235 

"  It  must  be  Bessie's,  for  here  's  an  H  in  the 
corner.  I  '11  have  it  done  up  and  sent  home." 

"  And  what  are  those  papers  ?  " 

"  Scraps  of  manuscript.  What  a  tangle  of 
notes !  Oh,  here  are  some  verses  scrawled  on  the 
back  of  an  old  letter !  '  One  night  in  a  garden  a 
white  rose  woke,'  —  oh,  yes !  the  words  of  that 
song  he 's  been  working  at  lately." 

"  The  envelope  is  addressed  in  Kitty's  hand- 
writing, isn't  it?" 

"  Yes ;  I  wish  the  rest  of  her  education  were 
equal  to  her  penmanship.  I  have  her  address  let- 
ters for  me  sometimes.  This  is  probably  one  I 
sent  him  last  winter.  I  wonder  what  I  said  ?  " 

She  drew  out  the  letter ;  then  put  it  back  hastily 
with  a  troubled  expression.  "  Oh,  it  is  n't  one  of 
mine!  It's  from  Kitty  herself.  She  generally 
shows  me  her  letters." 

"  I  should  think  that  was  a  good  rule.  You  '11 
read  it  now,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Why  —  no."  Miss  Tracy  had  got  as  far  as 
"  This  is  just  from  me  to  you."  "  It  would  be 
dishonorable." 

"  Nonsense, —  under  the  circumstances  !  "  Maud 
leaned  forward,  looking  at  the  letter  with  narrowed 
eyes.  "  It 's  your  right  to  know  what 's  going  on," 
she  said.  "  It  might  throw  some  light  on  various 
things." 

"  But  —  they  're  engaged.     I  've  no  right." 

"  They  were  n't  engaged  then.  I  want  to  know 
—  for  Billy's  sake  !  " 

It  was  not  clear  in  just  what  manner  Billy  was 


236  ROMAN  BIZNET 

to  be  benefited ;  but  one  must  do  many  things  in 
the  name  of  wisdom  when  one  has  the  care  of 
young  people.  One  must  always  know  what  is 
going  on  in  one's  house. 

"  But  whatever  it  is,  now  that  they  are  to  be 
married  "  — 

"  Well,  they  're  still  dependent  on  you,  are  n't 
they  ?  How  do  you  know  what  scheme  may  be  on 
foot?  You  can't  be  too  careful.  You  ought  to 
know  everything,  everything,  that  goes  on.  You 
say  it  is  a  rule  that  she  must  show  you  her  corre- 
spondence. She  must  have  had  a  reason  for  violat- 
ing it." 

"But"  — 

"Your  conscience  is  too  tender,  dearie,"  said 
Maud,  smiling.  "  Come  —  let  me  read  it.  I  'm 
willing  to  shoulder  the  responsibility." 

It  is  hard  always  to  know  exactly  what  is  right. 
Doubtless  Maud's  judgment  was  best,  —  Maud  was 
so  wise  and  broad-minded.  One  must  be  broad- 
minded  to  do  the  expedient  thing. 

When  Maud  had  read  the  letter  through  she 
handed  it  to  Miss  Tracy,  with  lifted  eyebrows. 
"  About  what  I  suspected." 

Miss  Tracy  read  slowly,  growing  first  pale  and 
then  red,  while  her  eyes  moistened. 

"I've  been  unjust,"  she  said,  feeling  for  her 
handkerchief.  "  She  was  unhappy,  and  I  did  n't 
realize." 

"Unjust! — you!"  exclaimed  her  niece  with 
righteous  indignation.  "  I  never  heard  of  such 
ingratitude  as  that  letter  shows.  And  the  very 


A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE  237 

idea  of  her  suggesting  to  keep  house  for  him  in 
New  York ! " 

"Why,  I  don't  know;  that  seems  natural 
enough.  They  've  been  like  brother  and  sister." 

"And  the  idea  of  her  speaking  so  about  Dr. 
Winthrop !  '  He  seems  to  blame  himself  for  let- 
ting Miss  Tracy  have  me.'  How  is  that  for  fab- 
rication, pure  and  simple  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  remember  he  seemed  to 
doubt  the  wisdom  of  it  at  first."  Miss  Tracy  put 
her  hand  over  her  eyes  and  leaned  back,  trem- 
bling. 

When  we  have  reared  an  edifice  of  good  inten- 
tion, self-sacrifice,  long  endeavor,  and  have  grown 
accustomed  to  considering  it  a  rather  fine  affair,  it 
is  disheartening  to  find  that  there  has  been  all 
along  a  stratum  of  shifting  sand  under  the  founda- 
tion, to  suspect  that  the  Lord  may  not  have  given 
the  matter  as  much  thought  and  approval  as  we 
had  supposed.  Or  was  it  unskillful  building 
merely  ?  At  any  rate,  it  is  disconcerting  to  con- 
sider the  cracks,  fissures,  and  general  tawdriness 
of  the  result,  that  it  may  presently  crumble  to 
ruin,  and  that  things  are  worse  instead  of  better  for 
its  having  been  at  all. 

"  She  goes  on  to  say,"  said  Miss  Tracy,  "that  I 
have  been  very  kind." 

"  And  so  you  have.  '  And  Billy  tries  to  help 
me  when  he  comes  home ;  but  they  don't  like  to 
have  him.  .  .  .  Billy  is  part  of  my  puzzle.  .  .  . 
What  makes  men  act  so,  anyway  ? '  I  should  say 
it  was  a  fortunate  thing  you  found  this  letter !  " 


238  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  But,  Maud  "  (Miss  Tracy  was  wiping  away 
tears)  —  "  but  I  don't  seem  to  see  anything  in  the 
letter  except  the  natural  unhappiness  of  the  child 
at  her  failure  in  her  studies." 

"  Oh,  if  the  letter  were  all !  But  can't  you  see 
how  it  was  written  when  she  began  to  doubt  the 
success  of  her  plans  about  Billy  ?  She  thought  she 
was  justified  in  not  paying  much  attention  to  her 
studies  because  she  was  counting  on  him  for  her 
future.  Then  she  saw  I  understood  her  game,  and 
started  another  —  which  has  succeeded." 

Miss  Tracy  looked  at  her  niece  in  some  bewilder- 
ment. "  You  are  speaking  almost  as  if  you  did 
not  approve  of  the  marriage.  I  thought  we  had 
agreed  it  was  such  a  good  thing." 

Maud  hesitated,  bewildered  also.  That  was  not 
the  idea  she  had  intended  to  convey. 

"  It  is  her  neglect  of  her  opportunities  at  the 
Normal  that  —  angers  me.  It  is  only  as  an  alter- 
native that  the  marriage  is  desirable,  —  two  penni- 
less children,  and  —  dependent." 

"I  —  I  seem  to  have  failed,"  said  Miss  Tracy 
wearily.  "  I  meant  her  to  be  —  a  —  gentlewoman 

—  and  —  truthful  —     I  thought  when  I  was  old 

—  it  would  be  something  to  be  happy  about.     I 
suppose  I  lack  discernment." 

"  It 's  not  you  who  have  failed,"  said  Maud. 
"  You  know  what  the  saying  is  about  making  a 
silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear." 

"  I  wish  I  had  had  you  long  ago  !  Yet  I  thought 
I  was  doing  so  well.  And  what  an  influence  for 
good  you  have  over  Billy  !  I  have  done  my  best ; 


A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE  239 

but  you  are  nearer  to  him  than  I  —  you  are  so 
like  your  mother." 

"  Billy,  and  of  course  you,  are  all  I  have,"  said 
Maud,  pressing  her  aunt's  hand  and  sighing. 

A  heavy  tramp  sounded  in  the  hall,  and  Billy 
appeared  at  the  open  door  in  knickerbockers  and 
sweater.  The  two  hounds,  leashed  together,  were 
tangled  madly  about  his  legs,  whining  with  tremu- 
lous eagerness,  their  yellow  eyes  moist  with  joy. 

"  I  'm  off  for  the  Lake,"  he  announced.  "  There 
are  some  fellows  I  know  camping  down  there. 
Will  you  say  good-by  for  me  to  the  rest  of  the 
folks  and  to  the  Heathways  when  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  Why,  Billy  !  "  said  Maud.  "  Is  n't  this  a  sud- 
den notion  ?  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Until  the  second  week  in  October,"  he  an- 
swered, bending  over  Bose  and  pretending  to  loosen 
his  collar.  The  two  women  exchanged  glances  of 
dismay. 

"  You  must  be  back  for  the  first,"  said  Miss 
Tracy  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Da —  I  mean  —  I  don't  think  I  can,  pos- 
sibly." 

"  You  must,  Billy,"  said  Maud  authoritatively. 
"  You  must  n't  sulk  like  a  silly  schoolboy.  Do 
you  want  to  be  laughed  at  by  the  whole  town  ? 
Bess  Heathway  is  to  be  bridesmaid,  and  you 
know  Home  wants  you  to  be  best  man." 

Billy  looked  at  his  sister  defiantly.  His  face 
had  lost  its  bright  color  and  was  thin  and  worn. 

"  Women  are  queer,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  puzzled 
way.  "What  do  you  think  I'm  made  of,  any- 
how?" 


240  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  I  think  you  are  very  cowardly,"  said  Maud, 
avoiding  his  look,  "  if  you  can't  face  a  little  disap- 
pointment and  chagrin  like  a  man.  If  it 's  only 
out  of  kindness  to  the  Conto  girl  "  — 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Billy  slowly  and  sternly, 
looking  straight  at  his  sister's  flushed  face,  "  that 
I  've  ohserved  so  much  kindness  toward  the  '  Conto 
girl,'  as  you  call  her,  from  you  as  to  warrant  you  in 
fretting  about  my  kindness  toward  her." 

"  Billy,  how  can  you  be  so  unjust !  " 

"  For  shame,  Billy !  To  your  sister !  "  said 
Miss  Tracy. 

"  Aunt  Emily,"  said  Billy  wearily,  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  understand  women  or  their  ways.  You 
and  Maud  tell  me  I  've  been  a  fool,  and  that  Kitty 
—  has  what  is  best  for  her.  I  'm  in  the  way,  and 
I  'm  going  to  get  out  and  stay  out  until  it 's  all 
over.  You  'd  better  not  object,  or  I  might  inter- 
fere with  your  plans  again." 

"  My  plans  !  "  echoed  Miss  Tracy  in  a  frightened 
tone. 

"  Everybody's  plans !  "  rejoined  Billy.  "  I  had 
one  plan,  and  it  seems  to  have  made  a  fool  of  me. 
I  don't  care  to  be  a  marplot  and  a  spectre  at  the 
feast  and  all  that !  Good-by." 

His  voice  in  the  last  words  trembled  like  a  dis- 
appointed child's.  He  stepped  back  into  the  hall 
to  take  his  gun  from  the  rack.  They  heard  him 
go  out  the  back  way,  and  presently  saw  him,  with 
his  brier  in  his  mouth  and  Bose  and  Tray  wad- 
dling unevenly  at  his  heels,  striding  down  the 
driveway  toward  the  hotel  where  the  stage  was  to 


A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE  241 

stop.  His  soldierly  swing  and  the  rifle  on  his 
shoulder  gave  him  the  look  of  a  man  off  to  the 
wars.  Before  he  was  out  of  sight  he  met  the  phae- 
ton in  which  Biznet  and  Kitty  were  returning  from 
an  early  morning  drive. 

'*  Well,  at  least  he  has  the  decency  to  stop  and 
speak  to  them,"  said  his  watchful  sister. 

Then  he  strode  out  of  sight,  and  the  cousins 
drove  up  the  lane.  Presently  Rome  strolled  through 
the  hall  from  the  back  of  the  house,  having  left 
Kitty  to  wander  about  the  garden  alone. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  drive  ?  "  asked  Maud, 
looking  up  with  a  smile  from  her  embroidery, 
which  she  had  resumed  with  sudden  industry. 

"  Charming.  So  Billy's  off,  is  he  ?  I  don't  see 
what  fun  such  a  hunter  as  he  is  can  have  in  the 
close  season ! " 

"  Oh,  well,  he  can  shoot  at  marks,  and  eat 
canned  stuff,  I  suppose ;  but  the  game  protector  is 
a  great  friend  of  his,  so  I  dare  say  he  will  get 
along  very  well." 

"  I  've  just  had  a  letter  from  Liebermann,  my 
manager,  you  know,"  said  Rome,  turning  to  Miss 
Tracy,  "  asking  me  to  come  down  to  Long  Branch 
through  September  as  his  guest.  I  shall  have  to 
start  next  week,  I  suppose.  Then  I  will  come 
back  for  Kitty  at  the  time  you  have  already  set 
for  the  wedding,  —  that  is,  if  my  programme  suits 
everybody  else." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Tracy  indifferently.  "  My 
head  aches.  Don't  move.  The  day  is  pleasant  for 
people  who  can  enjoy  it.  You  and  Maud  stay 


242  ROMAN  BIZNET 

out  here.  But  I  think  I  will  lie  down  for  a 
while." 

Biznet  sat  down  in  the  chair  she  had  left,  laps- 
ing into  artistic  abstraction,  frowning  into  space, 
his  eyes  focussed  on  some  point  beyond  Maud's 
head,  and  through  her,  while  his  fingers  drummed 
a  fancied  melody  into  the  arm  of  his  chair.  He 
was  bewildered  presently  to  hear  Maud  say  with 
unwonted  sharpness,  "What  are  you  looking  at 
me  like  that  for?  Don't  you  know  it  is  very 
rude?" 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  answered  blandly,  rising  to  the  situa- 
tion at  once  with  enthusiasm.  He  had  intended  to 
quarrel  with  Maud  at  some  time  or  other,  and  was 
rather  pleased  that  she  should  begin  it. 

"I  should  have  supposed  you  might  have  ac- 
quired at  least  the  veneer  of  a  gentleman  after  all 
this  time." 

«'T  is  queer,  is  n't  it?" 

Maud  rose  angrily,  gathering  up  her  work  to 
depart.  But  as  she  stood  up  Kitty's  letter  fell 
from  among  her  silks  at  Biznet's  feet.  He  stooped 
courteously  to  pick  it  up  for  her. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  he  drawled,  returning  it  to  his 
own  pocket.  Maud  looked  angry  and  startled. 

"  As  to  my  having  a  letter  addressed  to  you, 
it  is  one  Miss  Tracy  took  from  the  coat  she  was 
mending  for  you.  Here  are  some  'cello  strings, 
too." 

"Well,  what  then?  I  didn't  accuse  you  of 
having  read  it,  did  I?  (I  don't  care  for  the 
strings,  thank  you.)  " 


A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE  243 

"  I  should  hope  not !  "  she  blazed,  righteously. 

"  You  did,  though,"  he  went  on  calmly. 

Confusion  of  one's  real  character  with  one's 
working  model  is  easy.  Maud's  ideal  was  very 
high,  an  infallible  pattern,  and  she  did  not  dis- 
tinguish that  she  had  in  any  way  departed  from  it, 
nor  recognize  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  in  her  in- 
dignation at  Biznet's  suspicion  that  she  had  done  a 
thing  well  reasoned  out  as  not  dishonorable. 

Perhaps  it  is  wisdom  to  obey  the  letter  of  the 
law  as  well  as  the  spirit,  and  not  to  meddle  with 
any  old  established  rules  of  good  breeding ;  for 
etiquette  is  merely  skin  deep,  but  honor  a  very 
jugular  vein  in  importance,  and  the  jugular  vein 
lies  quite  near  the  surface,  and  must  be  treated 
with  respect. 

Maud  lifted  her  head  with  the  magnificent  air 
of  one  too  innocent  and  maligned  to  attempt  de- 
fense. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  so  !  " 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  now  that  you  've 
read  it  ?  "  he  pursued  confidentially.  "  You  see, 
there 's  nothing  like  a  little  trick  or  habit.  I  al- 
ways put  a  letter  in  the  envelope  with  the  edges 
up  —  not  a  good  way  —  a  careless  way,  but  it 
saves  trouble.  You  and  Miss  Tracy  put  the  fold 
upward,  because  it 's  easier  to  take  out,  I  believe 
—  better  form.  This  letter,  by  the  way,  is  one 
that  might  be  misunderstood,  I  suppose,  by  any 
one  who  —  preferred  to  misunderstand  it." 

"  I  should  think  that  its  meaning  was  only  too 
plain!" 


244  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  walk  into  the  trap  in 
quite  such  a  hurry! "  he  grinned. 

"  Well,  then  —  if  I  did  read  it  ?  Kitty  is  sup- 
posed to  show  all  her  correspondence  to  my  aunt. 
Miss  Tracy  read  it  and  asked  my  opinion,  as  she 
had  a  perfect  right  to  do." 

"  No,  she  had  n't.  And  she  would  n't  have  read 
it  if  you  had  n't  advised  her  to  !  " 

She  would  have  crowded  past  him  into  the  house, 
but  he  caught  her  wrist  with  a  vicious  wrench  and 
pushed  her  back  into  her  chair.  There  was  a 
moment's  canine  uplifting  of  his  upper  lip  as  he 
did  so,  and  the  defiance  ebbed  from  her  face,  leav- 
ing fright  there. 

"  I  'm  going  to  call  a  spade  a  spade,"  said  Biznet. 
"  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you,  and 
it  is  n't  going  to  be  a  love  story,  either.  You  're 
green  with  jealousy  of  Kitty.  Why?  Because 
your  aunt  adopted  her  when  she  was  a  baby  ?  She 
had  no  more  to  say  about  it  than  a  child  has  about 
the  family  it 's  born  into.  Because  Billy  fell  in 
love  with  her  ?  If  this  letter  proves  anything  it 
proves  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  that.  Because 
she 's  going  to  marry  me  ?  But  that 's  what  you 
wanted  from  the  first,  is  n't  it  ?  You  wanted  her 
to  marry  me,  did  n't  you  ?  "  His  black  eyes  nar- 
rowed disagreeably. 

Her  lips  were  white  and  stiff.  She  held  both 
hands  against  her  breast,  clasping  the  wrist  on 
which  the  marks  of  his  fingers  were  still  red,  and 
stood  up,  unsteadily  but  with  dignity.  "  You  are 
cruel,  and  you  don't  understand.  I'm  sorry  I 


A  QUESTION  OF  ETIQUETTE  245 

read  the  letter.  I  have  not  meant  to  hurt  any- 
body nor  to  be  dishonest.  I  meant  —  for  the  — 
best." 

"Then,"  said  Biznet,  dropping  the  insolence 
from  his  voice,  but  with  some  sternness,  "  be  good 
to  her  while  I  'm  gone." 


CHAPTER  XIH 

KITTY   CONTO'S    HERESY  —  AND   A  STRANGE 
VIOLINIST 

WITH  the  departure  of  Billy  and  Rome  the 
world  got  along  more  amicably  with  itself  in  Cos- 
mos, and  Maud's  invincible  good  temper  made 
headway.  The  women  settled  down  to  Kitty's 
wardrobe  with  real  enjoyment.  Bess  Heathway 
came  over  to  lend  her  skill,  such  as  it  was.  While 
she  worked  for  Kitty,  setting  awkward  stitches  and 
patiently  taking  them  out  again,  Kitty  would  be 
busy  about  her,  pecking  here  and  there  with  needle 
and  thread.  Perhaps  she  was  glad  of  an  excuse 
to  find  something  else  to  do  than  the  endless  trous- 
seau for  which  she  cared  so  little. 

"  My  dear,  I  thought  this  spring  you  were  really 
going  to  spruce  up  and  attend  to  your  clothes  like 
a  real  lady-girl.  What  makes  you  so  lazy  ?  " 

"  What 's  the  use  ?  It  all  rips  out  again.  Who 
cares  how  I  look,  anyway  ?  " 

"  How  can  it  rip  if  you  never  sew  it  up  ?  I 
never  saw  such  a  girl !  " 

"I  never  look  decent,  no  matter  how  hard  I 
try.  You're  the  bandboxy  one.  However  do 
you  manage  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  sighed  Kitty,  who  had 
fallen  idle  again.  "  I  've  been  getting  careless 


KITTY  CONTO'S  HERESY  247 

lately,  myself.  It's  easy,  once  you  begin.  I 
have  n't  washed  my  hair  for  six  weeks." 

"  What  makes  you  keep  that  fan  over  that 
picture  ?  " 

"  What  picture  ?  The  Fornarina  ?  A  conven- 
ient place  for  the  fan,  I  suppose." 

"  What  wicked  eyes  she  has !  I  would  n't  like 
to  live  in  the  same  room  with  her  watching  all  I 
did." 

Kitty  and  the  Fornarina  exchanged  glances  of 
intelligence.  Kitty  looked  out  of  the  window, 
drumming  on  the  pane  with  idle  fingers. 

"  I  suppose  you  're  very  fond  of  Borne,"  said 
Bess  presently,  setting  some  stitches  that  were 
awkward  beyond  belief.  She  stabbed  her  finger 
with  the  needle  when  she  pronounced  his  name, 
but  her  voice  was  placid  enough. 

"  Fond  of  —  why,  of  course !  "  assented  Kitty 
absently.  "  Who  would  n't  be  ?  " 

"  Yet,  somehow,  you  don't  seem  so  very  happy. 
Of  course,  I  don't  know  anything  about  such  mat- 
ters, but  I  supposed  girls  about  to  be  married 
were  too  jolly  for  anything." 

"  Jolly !  "  echoed  Kitty  in  a  light-hearted  tone, 
—  "  why,  I  'm  as  jolly  as  —  as  "  —  She  laughed, 
and,  from  laughing,  cried  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  Bess  went  to  her,  and  the  little  black 
head  burrowed  into  her  bosom  like  a  kitten  taken 
from  its  nest  and  scared  at  the  world's  bigness. 

"  Kitty  Conto  —  you  're  not  happy.  Don't  you 
really  care  for  him  ?  " 

"  Care  for  him  ?    Of  course  I  care  for  him  — 


248  ROMAN  BIZNET 

but,  oh  Bess,  I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  be  mar- 
ried!" 

"  Wishes  she  did  n't  have  to  be  married! "  echoed 
Bess,  and  stared  sombrely  over  her  head  at  the 
Fornarina.  "Loves  the  man,  but  doesn't  want 
to  marry  him.  Well !  " 

"  It 's  like  dying  —  or  going  to  be  a  nun,"  sobbed 
Kitty.  "  I  '11  have  to  think  about  him  always  and 
forever,  and  nothing  else  !  " 

"  Loves  him,  but  does  n't  want  to  think  about 
him  all  the  time ! "  said  Bess.  "  I  think  —  of  course 
I  don't  know  anything  about  such  things  —  but  I 
think,  if  I  loved  a  man  "  —  she  stopped  —  "  if  I 
loved  a  man,"  she  continued,  unsteadily,  "  I  im- 
agine I  could  not  think  of  anything  else,  no  mat- 
ter if  I  tried.  I  think  I  should  n't  know  how  not 
to  think  of  him."  She  pressed  her  cheek  against 
the  shining  black  head. 

"  Kitty,  dear,  tell  Bess.   What  makes  you  cry  ?  " 

"  Because  I  'm  a  very  silly  girl,"  said  Kitty,  sit- 
ting up,  and  adjusting  hairpins  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way.  A  suspicion  and  a  hope  which  had  flashed 
across  Elizabeth  died  down.  She  went  back  to 
her  sewing. 

Kitty  watched  her  furtively  and  pondered  many 
things.  She  was  uncertain  just  how  far  she  had 
made  a  mess  of  circumstances  and  whether  there 
was  anything  she  could  say  to  reassure  Elizabeth. 
Bess  did  n't  look  very  well.  Probably  she  had 
troubles  of  her  own  without  worrying  over  those 
of  Kitty  Conto.  Bess  always  did  worry  over 
people  so !  So  it  seemed  expedient  to  Kitty  to 


KITTY  CONTO'S  HERESY  249 

deliver  a  little  lecture  on  the  subject  of  true  love. 
If  Bess  knew  no  better  it  would  probably  seem 
reasonable  enough. 

"  You  see,  it 's  this  way."  She  was  taking  down 
her  disheveled  hair.  Difficult  talk  is  easier  if  the 
fingers  are  busy.  "  I  'm  very  fond  of  Rome.  Of 
course  I  am,  or  I  would  n't  have  accepted  him." 

"  Of  course,"  murmured  Elizabeth's  grave  lips. 

"  I  never  could  care  for  anybody  else  —  never  — 
but  —  but  men  sometimes  get  tired  of  their  wives." 

Elizabeth  smiled.  "  If  that 's  what 's  troubling 
you"  — 

"  N-no,  not  exactly  that.  But  I  'm  such  a  dull 
little  thing,  not  knowing  anything  about  music." 

"  He  hates  musical  women." 

"  Yes  —  I  know.  But,  well,  you  said  you  did  n't 
know  anything  about  love,  so  how  can  I  ever  make 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  I  '11  try  hard  if  you  '11  be  patient  with  me." 

"  Well,  it 's  just  this,  then.  No  matter  how  much 
you  love  a  man,  you  'd  rather  not  marry  him  !  " 

The  hair  enveloped  her  completely  now.  She 
peered  through  it  stealthily  at  Elizabeth  to  see  the 
result  of  her  startling  heresy.  Bess  frowned  in  a 
puzzled  way  at  the  work  which  had  fallen  in  her 
lap. 

"  That  is  n't  so,  Kitty,"  she  said  at  last,  quietly. 
"  That  can  only  mean  one  thing.  You  don't  love 
him." 

"Well,"  said  Kitty  then,  playing  her  ace  of 
trumps,  "  he  loves  me  enough  to  make  up !  So  I 
shall  learn,  and  it's  all  right,  anyhow.  Did  you 


250  ROMAN  BIZNET 

know  he  was  coming  back  to-morrow  ?     Must  you 
go  ?     I  had  so  much  to  say." 

The  fall  rains  were  lowering  in  the  sky,  though 
the  yellow  maples  kept  up  a  pretense  of  sunshine. 
On  the  day  that  Biznet  was  expected,  Maud  Tracy 
and  her  aunt  had  a  wood  fire  built  in  the  damp  par- 
lor, and  its  cheerful  yellow  sparkle  almost  brought 
a  glow  of  health  to  the  magenta  upholstery  of  the 
room. 

"  I  believe  I  '11  have  the  room  done  over  next 
spring,"  said  Miss  Tracy,  looking  forward  to  future 
lightness  of  heart  and  heaviness  of  purse.  "  It 
ought  to  be  more  homelike  for  you  and  Billy." 

"  I  think  I  'd  like  red  wall-paper,"  said  Maud ; 
"  that  deep  rose  that  they  're  using  so  much  now." 

A  desire  for  rose-colored  walls  and  drapery  is 
apt  to  seize  a  woman  of  thirty  or  a  trifle  past.  The 
effect  is  better  than  rouge,  and  does  not  injure  the 
conscience. 

"  This  weather  makes  me  restless,"  said  Maud, 
glancing  at  a  gilt  clock  under  a  glass  case  that 
always  pointed  to  the  eleventh  hour.  Then  she 
consulted  the  watch  at  her  belt.  "  Adlor  meets 
the  train,  of  course  ?  " 

"Yes." 

She  sat  down  at  the  piano,  playing  carelessly ; 
but  with  whatever  melody  she  started  it  was  sure 
to  change  presently  to  something  of  Biznet's  com- 
position. There  was  a  thing  of  gloomy  march 
movement  which  he  had  called  "  The  Battle  in  the 
West":  — 


KITTY  CONTO'S  HERESY  261 

"  Far  other  is  this  battle  in  the  West 
Whereto  we  move,  than  when  we  strove  in  youth." 

"  I  am  sick  of  music,"  she  said,  when  she  had 
played  this  through,  and  went  abruptly  to  the  win- 
dow, where  she  stood  with  forehead  pressed  to  the 
glass.  And  while  she  frowned  at  the  yellow  maples 
a  trio  of  wandering  musicians  strolled  through  the 
gate,  lugging  harp,  violin,  and  viola.  As  they  set- 
tled beneath  the  window  and  began  to  tune,  Miss 
Tracy,  sitting  before  the  fire,  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  I  thought  it  was  Rome's  'cello  again  !  " 

Maud  laughed  rather  bitterly.  "  I  don't  wonder. 
The  house  is  haunted  with  that  'cello,  I  sometimes 
think.  It  seems  to  be  in  every  creaking  blind  or 
squeak  of  a  mouse.  Good  gracious !  " 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  One  of  these  Italians  looks  enough  like  Roman 
Biznet  to  be  his  own  father,  or  himself !  " 

Miss  Tracy  came  to  the  window  and  adjusted 
her  pince-nez. 

"  It  is  strange,  is  n't  it  ?  But  I  always  thought 
he  had  a  rather  Italian  look.  All  Canadians  with 
the  French-Indian  mixture  have  it." 

The  man  of  whom  they  were  speaking  was  the 
violinist  and  leader.  He  looked  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  women  in  the  window  and  smiled  widely. 

"  I  am  sick  of  music,"  said  Maud  for  the  second 
time,  as  the  shabby  three  played  "  Non  e  ver." 
But  as  it  went  much  better  than  one  expects  of 
wayside  music,  the  violin,  particularly,  being  extra- 
ordinarily good,  she  sang  with  them,  not  so  softly 
but  that  the  leader  threw  her  a  quick  glance  of 


252  ROMAN  BIZNET 

approval,  at  which  she  stopped,  paling,  for  it 
seemed  impossible  that  two  men  could  have  that 
look  in  common,  although  the  face  of  this  one  was 
shriveled  and  evidently  long  past  middle  age.  Yet 
there  was  an  alert  and  invincible  youngness,  such 
as  belongs  to  old  and  feeble  grasshoppers  in  au- 
tumn, who  keep  the  vitality  of  Tithonus. 

"I  should  almost  think  it  was  he,  masquer- 
ading," she  said  to  Miss  Tracy. 

Then  they  played  that  little  march  of  Biznet's 
which  had  grown  popular,  and  which  its  maker 
despised.  But  as  they  finished,  having  received 
a  quarter  with  many  smiles  and  bows  and  gone  off 
under  the  yellow  maples  and  brown  leaves,  Maud 
watched  the  violinist  with  an  eager  stare. 

"  I  wonder !  "  she  said. 

Bess  came  in  just  then  and  asked  for  Kitty. 
She  had  brought  with  her  a  hemstitched  ruffle 
which  had  cost  long  hours  and  bleeding  fingers. 
It  was  grimy  and  uneven  in  result,  and  many 
strange  bits  of  philosophy  had  gone  to  its  making. 
She  had  read  somewhere  that  if  one  is  in  danger 
of  hating  somebody,  it  is  well  to  make  some  kindly 
sacrifice  of  love  instead  —  mechanically,  as  one 
takes  medicine.  She  understood  that  in  theory  she 
was  bound  to  hate  Kitty,  and  so  began  the  endless 
ruffle  while  she  was  still  ill  in  bed,  and  whether  the 
ruffle  had  anything  to  do  with  it  or  not,  there  was 
not  at  any  time  any  jealous  poison  in  her  sore 
heart.  Dr.  Winthrop,  to  whose  knowledge  this 
little  act  came,  as  did  pretty  nearly  everything 


KITTY  CONTO'S  HERESY  253 

concerning  the  two  families,  sooner  or  later,  would 
have  given  something  to  possess  that  ruffle,  grime, 
tiny  blood  spots  and  all,  to  keep  it  for  her  as  a  doc- 
ument of  value  against  a  possible  Day  of  Judg- 
ment. Kitty  met  her  with  an  air  of  mystery  and 
good  news,  and  pulled  her  eagerly  into  the  room. 

"  I  want  to  talk  about  something."  She  shook 
a  small  forefinger  accusingly.  "  You  're  in  love 
with  somebody  —  who  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  idiot  child !  Just  because  you  're  in  love 
yourself,  you  think  everybody  else  must  be." 

"  But  you  are  !  " 

"  I  'm  not !  And  I  don't  like  you  to  talk  that 
way." 

"  You  can't  cheat  me  I    Is  it  —  Billy  ?  " 

Bess  laughed  so  heartily  that  Kitty  grew  slightly 
indignant.  She  did  not  see  anything  impossible  or 
absurd  about  loving  Billy  Tracy. 

"  I  have  other  things  to  think  about  besides  be- 
ing in  love,"  said  Bess,  with  some  scorn.  "  Some 
people  seem  to  think  that 's  the  only  thing  in  the 
world  worth  thinking  about.  I  don't  see  why.  It 
is  n't  so  awfully  important.  Men  don't  think  about 
it  as  much  as  women  do  —  that 's  because  they  're 
always  doing  something  —  machinery,  or  law,  or 
medicine,  or  fighting.  It 's  easy  enough  to  keep 
one's  mind  full  of  something  sensible,  to  live  on 
a  higher  plane.  I  'd  rather  just  have  friends  any- 
how. I've  been  studying  botany  this  summer. 
You  've  no  idea  how  interesting  botany  is  "  — 

"  If  it  is  n't  Billy,  it  must  be  Rome,"  said 
Kitty. 


254  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Why  —  why  —  the  very  idea !  You  're  going 
to  marry  him  yourself  next  week ! " 

"  Tell  me  —  is  it  Rome  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not  —  the  very  idea !  " 

Kitty  went  over  to  Bess  and  knelt  in  front  of 
her,  turning  her  face  to  the  light.  "  It  is !  Just 
as  sure  as  the  world !  You  can't  look  me  in  the 
eye  any  more  than  a  cat  —  and  you  're  going  to 
cry!  Don't  go — please.  Don't  be  mad  —  I 
wanted  to  tell  you"  — 

But  Bess  was  rushing  down  the  stairs.  On  the 
steps  she  ran  plump  into  Biznet  himself,  who 
bowed  gravely  as  she  drew  her  shawl  across  her 
tear-stained  face.  Adlor,  as  he  turned  the  carriage 
toward  the  barn,  glanced  at  her  curiously  in  a 
way  she  afterward  remembered. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

KITTY   SOLVES   HER   PROBLEM 

"  WELL,  Pussy,  by  this  time  next  week  we  shall 
be  on  our  wedding  journey." 

She  looked  sidelong  at  him  over  her  shoulder, 
with  a  suppressed  alertness  that  he  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"You  don't  seem  to  detest  the  idea,  exactly. 
Did  n't  happen  to  fall  in  love  with  me  while  I  was 
away?" 

"  You  and  I  did  n't  have  to  fall  in  love,  being 
brother  and  sister  so." 

"  How  has  Maud  treated  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  has  been  just  lovely.  You  must  n't 
blame  her  and  Miss  Tracy,  Rome.  You  know  how 
stupid  I  am  and  how  much  they  have  done  for 
me.  And  anyhow,  it  was  you  Miss  Tracy  adopted. 
I  was  only  a  bargain  end,  thrown  in  for  good 
measure." 

"  So  Maud  has  been  lovely  to  you,  has  she  ? 
Urn  !  that 's  nice." 

"  Rome,  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  And 
you  must  n't  mind,  and  must  answer  true.  Were 
you  ever  in  love  with  anybody  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  mean  anybody  else?  I  'm  pretty 
well  in  love  with  you,  Pussy." 

"  I  don't  like  you  to  pretend.     Was  there  any- 


256  ROMAN  BIZNET 

body  ?  There  was !  There  was  !  You  are  fidget- 
ing, you  are  blinking,  as  you  always  do  when  you 
tell  lies." 

"  Be  still !  You  don't  know  what  you  're  talking 
about.  How  could  there  be  anybody  else  ?  You 
don't  suppose  I  class  you  with  kellnerinnen,  do 
you  —  the  girls  that  students  know  ?  If  you  are 
thinking  of  a  barmaid  rival "  — 

"  It  was  n't  that  I  meant.  All  that  is  nobody's 
business  but  your  own." 

"  Don't  get  ideas,  for  heaven's  sake,"  he  said. 

They  were  walking  in  the  threadbare  October 
garden,  their  steps  deadened  by  the  sodden  leaves 
that  fell  too  thickly  for  Adlor's  rake.  There  were 
borders  of  scentless  asters,  and  where  the  fragrant 
rose  hedge  had  been  the  thorns  were  bare,  the 
scarlet  hips  dotting  them  like  drops  of  blood.  The 
blackness  of  frost  was  upon  all  tender  plants,  the 
hardy  ones  looking  weary  as  though  leaves  were 
become  a  burden  and  a  responsibility. 

Kitty  picked  up  a  fallen  bird's-nest,  and  tried 
in  an  absent-minded  way  to  restore  order  to  its 
raveled  straws  and  horsehair.  Something  in  its 
inner  softness  elicited  an  amused  chuckle.  She 
drew  forth  a  soiled  and  tangled  wisp  of  light  hair. 

"  Of  all  things !  I  cut  off  this  lock  of  Bess 
Heathway's  hair  last  spring.  It  was  always  com- 
ing into  her  eyes  and  I  could  n't  stand  it.  And 
here  it  is  !  Did  you  ever  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  solemn  mockery  and  held 
out  the  trash  between  a  dainty  thumb  and  finger. 
"Don't  you  want  it?" 


KITTY  SOLVES  HER  PROBLEM  257 

"  Why  should  I  want  it?  " 

"  Then  why  do  you  look  at  it  like  a  cat  at  a 
piece  of  meat?  And  what  makes  your  eyes  get 
pink  in  the  middle  ?  I  thought  you  were  clever ! 
Oh,  I  'm  not  stupid  about  everything.  I  knew  she 
cared  for  you,  but  I  wanted  to  make  sure  about 
you  —  and  now  I  've  done  it !  " 

He  took  a  step  toward  her  menacingly,  his  right 
hand  gripped  upon  his  cane  until  the  knuckles 
were  white.  Perhaps  Antoine  and  Phrebe  had 
looked  at  each  other  like  this  before  these  two 
were  born.  But  Kitty  was  the  daughter  of  Al- 
phonsine,  in  whom  was  no  fear.  Presently  she 
smiled,  and  without  mockery. 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  she  said  softly,  "  I  did  n't 
mean  to  hurt." 

The  band  of  anger  that  had  clamped  his  fore- 
head fell  away.  He  flung  his  cane  into  the  hedge 
with  a  gesture  of  horror,  and  sat  down  wearily  on 
a  bench,  with  averted  face. 

"  You  will  never  trust  me  now,"  he  said  un- 
steadily. "  But  it 's  only  that  my  nerves  are  out 
of  order.  I  —  would  never  have  struck  you." 

"  Would  n't  you  ?  But  it  does  n't  matter.  You 
see,  I  understand  so  well.  I  think  it 's  better  to 
have  such  things  understood  between  us.  Don't 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  've  admitted  there  was 
anything  to  understand,  have  I  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  Oh,  no !  You  are  very  dis- 
creet. But  you  see  I  am  unusually  clever." 

"  I  don't  admit  that,  either." 


258  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Well,  it  does  n't  matter  what  you  admit.  Bess 
is  even  less  clever  than  you  are.  She  began  to 
cry  as  soon  as  I  talked  about  you." 

He  sat  up  and  met  her  eyes  defiantly.  "  Well, 
for  the  sake  of  argument,  then,  suppose  I  do  care 
for  Bess  and  she  for  me,  what  then  ?  You  and  I 
can't  fgo  back,  can  we  ?  Who  owns  us  ?  What 
can  we  do  ?  You  've  got  your  trousseau.  I  've 
taken  our  rooms  in  New  York.  Bess  has  her  mind 
made  up  to  be  bridesmaid.  Now  what 's  the  use 
of  going  and  spoiling  it  all  ?  People  get  over  that 
sort  of  thing.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  settle  down 
and  be  sensible,  like  folks." 

Kitty  studied  her  engagement  ring  in  the  con- 
templative manner  that  she  had  learned  from  Maud 
Tracy. 

"  Well,  what  would  you  do  about  it,  supposing 
I  admitted  it  (which  I  don't)  ?  "  he  asked  again 
fretfully. 

" 1  don't  know  that  there  's  anything  to  do," 
she  replied  slowly,  holding  her  diamond  so  near 
her  eyes  that  they  turned  in. 

"  Everything  will  go  all  right  once  we  get  to 
New  York." 

"  Yes,  —  once  we  get  to  New  York." 

"  All  we  've  got  to  do  is  to  be  sensible." 

"Yes." 

"  What  have  you  got  in  your  head  ?  You  look 
as  sly  as  a  cat  that 's  been  at  the  cream." 

"  In  my  head  ?  Oh,  I  was  planning  how  I  'd  fix 
our  rooms  in  New  York  !  I  like  red  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  '11  like  anything  you  do." 


KITTY  SOLVES  HER  PROBLEM  269 

"  Bess  Heath  way  likes  blue." 

He  took  hold  of  her  arm  and  shook  it  brutally. 
"  Get  that  idea  out  of  your  head ;  if  you  don't, 
there  will  be  trouble.  How  would  you  like  it  if  I 
kept  talking  to  you  about  Billy." 

"  Oh,  I  should  n't  mind  !  "  She  rolled  up  her 
sleeve  and  looked  with  a  curious  smile  at  the  marks 
of  his  fingers  on  her  arm.  "  A  year  from  now," 
she  said,  "  there  will  be  marks  like  that  on  my 
throat,  I  suppose.  We  are  starting  well !  But  I 
have  an  errand  —  to  get  a  seamstress  from  the 
other  side  of  the  river.  Adlor  has  the  carriage 
ready,  I  see.  Good-by." 

He  did  not  raise  his  head  as  she  walked  away. 
But  she  had  not  reached  the  turn  of  the  path  be- 
fore she  came  running  back.  She  threw  her  arms 
about  him  and  kissed  him  many  times,  sobbing 
(though  her  eyes  were  dry  and  bright),  and  saying 
that  he  had  been  very  good  to  her,  that  she  had  n't 
meant  to  hurt  him  in  any  way,  and  that  she  should 
never  forget  —  never.  Then  she  was  gone. 

As  to  what  followed,  no  one  ever  knew  how  long 
before  it  had  been  planned,  nor  what  the  circum- 
stances of  the  strange  and  sudden  courtship  be- 
tween Adlor  and  Kitty  had  been.  Miss  Tracy 
and  Maud  —  and  Billy,  too,  when  the  news  reached 
him — swore  they  had  secretly  loved  each  other 
for  years,  that  it  was  a  case  of  like  returning  to 
like,  and  that  the  Tracy  family  might  wash  their 
hands  of  the  matter  with  good  consciences  and  talk 
about  Ingratitude. 


260  ROMAN  BIZNET 

But  Bess  Heathway  cried  all  that  night,  believ- 
ing that  Kitty  had  sacrificed  herself  for  her ;  and 
Roman  Biznet  paced  to  and  fro,  heavy-eyed  and 
white-faced  because  he  had  once  more  made  a  mess 
of  it,  though  sometimes  he  would  look  stealthily 
toward  the  Heathway  house. 

And  this  was  what  happened  :  The  carriage  did 
not  come  back  when  in  all  reason  Kitty  should  have 
finished  her  errand  with  the  seamstress,  and  it  did 
not  come  back  at  dinner  time.  Miss  Tracy  looked 
anxious,  and  Maud  went  about  with  lifted  eye- 
brows. Rome  walked  to  the  seamstress's  house. 
They  had  not  been  there.  Of  course  he  knew 
then,  though  he  tried  to  reason  it  out  some  other 
way.  But  he  remembered  how  Kitty  had  kissed 
him  as  if  for  good-by,  and  how  she  had  said  she 
should  "  never  forget."  He  walked  home  slowly, 
and  as  he  passed  the  Heathway  house  looked  to- 
ward it  with  a  strange  expression. 

Mrs.  Heathway  heard  of  it  through  the  servants, 
and  came  over  with  bulging  eyes,  and  she  and  the 
Tracy  women  sat  about  and  talked  in  low  tones, 
listening  to  everything  that  passed  in  the  road. 
Miss  Tracy  lay  upon  a  lounge,  and  the  other  two 
fanned  her  and  held  salts  to  her  nose. 

Dr.  Winthrop  came  over  and  listened  a  while  to 
their  excited  accounts,  saying  nothing,  but  looking 
exceedingly  grim.  Then  he  went  out,  and  found 
Roman  Biznet  strolling  about  the  grounds,  and 
walked  with  him  arm  in  arm  ;  and  Roman  told  him 
everything,  laying  particular  stress  on  the  fact 
that  he  (Biznet)  was  a  fool  and  a  brute.  And 


KITTY  SOLVES  HER  PROBLEM  261 

the  doctor  quite  understood  how  it  had  all  come 
about,  and  blamed  nobody  very  much. 

But  while  they  walked  together  they  heard  car- 
riage wheels  far  down  the  road,  and  presently  the 
horses  turned  into  the  driveway.  There  was  foam 
upon  them,  as  could  be  seen  in  the  obscurity  of  the 
night. 

"  Hola,  mon  vieux ! "  said  Biznet,  running  to 
their  heads.  But  it  was  not  Adlor  who  jumped 
down,  and,  thrusting  two  letters  into  Biznet's 
hands,  ran  swiftly  away  into  the  dark. 

"  To  Miss  Tracy  and  to  me,"  said  Home,  read- 
ing by  the  glow  of  his  cigar.  "  Come  in  with  me, 
won't  you  ?  It 's  two  men's  work  to  defend  her." 

This  was  Kitty's  letter  to  Miss  Tracy :  — 

DEAR  Miss  TRACY,  —  I  am  sorry  that  I  have 
disappointed  you  in  every  way.  You  have  tried  to  be 
very  kind  to  me.  If  marrying  Rome  could  have 
really  paid  you  back  at  all,  I  should  not  have  done 
what  I  have.  But  I  thought  it  over  very  carefully, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  should  only  be  a  drag  on 
him  and  keep  him  from  paying  his  debt  to  you,  to 
say  nothing  of  my  own.  If  you  had  never  taken 
me,  I  should  probably  have  married  Adlor,  or 
somebody  like  him.  Perhaps  he  and  I  will  be  just 
as  happy  as  though  I  had  not  been  educated  more 
than  he  has.  I  could  never  have  earned  enough 
to  pay  you  anyway,  and  now  at  least  you  will  not 
have  to  spend  any  more  for  me,  and  Rome  will 
have  an  easier  time  paying  you  for  himself. 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

KITTY  CONTO  SANTWIRE. 


262  ROMAN  BIZNET 

"  Oh,  the  cold-bloodedness  of  it ! "  was  Miss 
Tracy's  comment.  "  She  thinks  of  nothing  but 
the  money  I  have  spent.  The  time,  the  care,  and 
my  —  my  affection,  count  as  nothing  with  her !  " 
She  faltered,  for  Dr.  Winthrop  was  looking  at  her 
with  great  sternness,  and  then  she  began  to  cry  so 
gustily  that  he  was  obliged  to  think  of  himself 
as  a  physician  and  do  what  he  could  to  avert 
hysteria. 

"  What  has  she  written  to  you  ?  "  asked  Maud, 
noticing  that  Biznet  still  held  an  unopened  en- 
velope. 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  I  shall  probably  not  tell 
you  when  I  do  know.  I  don't  need  to  open  the 
envelope  to  be  sure  of  one  thing,  and  that  is  that 
my  cousin  is  as  innocent  and  good  as  a  baby  in 
arms.  Adlor  is  a  good  fellow,  and  I  wish  them 
happiness  with  all  my  heart." 

"  How  extremely  noble  !  But  perhaps  you  knew 
all  about  it  beforehand  and  helped  them  off  !  " 

He  looked  her  over  slowly  from  head  to  foot, 
then  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  to  his  room. 
This  was  his  letter  :  — 

DEAK  ROMY,  —  We  were  brother  and  sister, 
and  it  would  n't  have  been  right.  I  should  have 
dragged  you  down,  and  you  would  have  kept  on 
thinking  of  Elizabeth.  Now  you  will  marry  her. 
She  loves  you  enough  to  wait  a  long  time,  and  you 
love  her  that  way  too.  As  it  is'now,  you  can  think 
of  me  kindly  as  your  little  sister.  But  I  knew 
this  afternoon,  when  you  started  to  strike  me  and 


KITTY  SOLVES  HER  PROBLEM  263 

when  you  hurt  my  arm,  that  you  would  want  to 
kill  me.  That  was  partly  why  I  teased  you  —  to 
find  out  what  you  would  be  like  if  I  bothered  you. 
I  don't  believe  you  will  ever  want  to  treat  Bess 
so.  People  don't  if  they  really  care  very  much. 

You  must  n't  worry  about  Adlor  and  me.  He 
has  a  job  at  Tupper  Lake.  We  shall  do  very  well. 
He  has  always  been  very  fond  of  me.  In  time  I 
shall  slip  back  to  about  what  I  should  have  been 
if  Miss  Tracy  had  n't  educated  me. 

I  don't  believe  I  cared  so  very  much  about  Billy. 
I  can't  be  sure,  because  I  feel  so  queer  and  numb 
about  everything,  and  I  can't  tell  what  matters  and 
what  does  n't.  I  thought  some  of  dying,  but  when 
I  found  I  could  make  some  one  happier  by  staying 
alive,  I  thought  I  would  —  for  a  while  at  least,  and 
one  does  n't  know  what  there  is  after  death,  you 
know.  I  don't  believe  the  priests  and  ministers 
know  any  more  than  you  or  I  do.  But  flowers  are 
pretty  and  worth  living  for  —  better  than  not 
knowing  or  seeing  anything  at  all. 

I  hope  you  and  Bess  will  be  happy.  And  please 
give  her  this  same  ring  that  I  am  sending  back  to 
you  —  I  shall  like  to  think  of  that. 

Be  a  good  boy  and  try  to  think  kindly  of  your 
little  sister  KITTY. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DOCTOR  WINTHROP  CONSIDERS  AN  ALLEGORY 

THE  same  night  that  Kitty  went  away  thieves 
came  to  town.  Some  of  the  Heathway  silver  was 
stolen,  and  the  Tracy  chicken  roost  suffered.  So 
there  was  much  to  talk  about  next  day  —  enough 
for  everybody,  and  fruitful  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion are  so  rare  that  a  chicken  or  two  and  a  few 
silver  spoons  seem  a  small  price  to  pay.  The 
chickens  and  the  spoons  were  small  weapons,  but 
Dr.  Winthrop  used  them  with  great  skill  to  divert 
the  talk  from  Kitty.  He  would  say  cheerily  that 
it  was  a  foolish  thing,  perhaps,  but  that  they  were 
all  good  children  and  probably  knew  their  own 
minds  best ;  then  he  would  hint  darkly  at  the 
robberies,  suggest  a  lair  of  tramps  in  the  woods 
that  ought  to  be  unearthed,  tell  of  sights  and  sounds 
as  of  many  marauders  and  hint  terrible  things  they 
might  do  if  they  had  a  chance.  And  he  painted 
the  unknown  terror  black  with  such  painstaking 
skill,  that  before  night  people  were  far  more 
anxious  about  their  own  safety  than  about  Kitty 
Conto  Santwire's  morals,  and  the  locksmith  drove 
a  brisk  trade. 

Roman  Biznet,  being  now  the  only  man  in  the 
Tracy  house,  offered  to  sit  up  that  night  and  keep 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  265 

an  eye  on  the  outbuildings,  and  on  the  prospect  in 
general. 

It  was  a  good  night  for  mischief  of  almost  any 
sort.  The  moon,  in  its  last  quarter,  did  not  rise 
until  toward  morning,  and  there  was  a  restless  wind 
that  engulfed  all  such  noises  as  stealthy  footsteps, 
nibbling  at  locks,  suddenly  stifled  cries  of  people 
or  chickens.  The  sky  was  clear  and  starry.  A 
man  may  see  well  enough  in  the  starlight  to  follow 
out  a  purpose,  but  following  the  man  himself  is  a 
problem  more  involved. 

Roman  Biznet,  in  his  capacity  of  chicken  warden, 
sat  in  a  corner  of  the  upper  veranda,  commanding 
the  outbuildings,  the  slope  toward  the  railroad 
tracks,  and  French  Hollow.  But  his  mind  ran 
little  to  chickens  and  pilfering  Frenchmen. 

He  was  planning  Elizabeth's  future  and  his  own. 
There  was  to  be  a  flat  in  New  York,  chiefly  given 
up  to  a  grand  piano,  a  bass  viol,  and  apparatus 
for  making  coffee.  He  planned  it  something  on 
the  pattern  of  his  bachelor  life  abroad.  They 
would  take  their  meals  out,  Bess  not  being  much 
of  a  cook  or  given  to  domesticity  in  any  form.  He 
wondered  if  it  would  be  of  any  use  to  try  to  teach 
her  the  piano,  or  if  it  would  lead  to  rows.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  better  to  encourage  her  to  turn  her  at- 
tention to  poetry.  The  Lunar  Moth  was  not  so  bad 
—  perhaps  she  could  do  librettos  for  him  if  he 
should  venture  upon  an  opera.  He  had  no  doubt 
about  his  "  hit."  Liebermann  had  no  doubt,  so 
why  should  he  have  any?  It  did  not  greatly 
trouble  him  that  there  was  a  little  matter  of  recon- 


266  ROMAN  BIZNET 

ciliation  with  Bess  to  be  gone  through,  and  that 
Judge  Heathway  had  a  will  of  his  own,  which  he 
exerted  in  his  family  with  great  success. 

He  was  in  a  good  humor  with  himself  and  the 
world.  Perhaps  Kitty  had  really  loved  Adlor ! 
And  if  so,  things  were  coming  out  right  all  around. 
Some  day  he  would  do  something  for  Kitty  and 
Adlor,  when  he  had  paid  Miss  Tracy. 

It  seemed  the  world  might  sometimes  give  a 
man  what  he  wanted  after  all.  He  smiled  over 
his  shoulder  towards  the  Heathway  house,  with  a 
pleasant  sense  of  security. 

But  the  wind  kept  up  a  snarling  and  chittering 
as  of  pursuer  and  pursued  all  about  the  house- 
corners,  up  and  down  the  empty  verandas,  through 
tree-tops,  chasing  leaves,  bits  of  paper,  intangible 
shadows  of  nothing.  Shrugged  into  his  overcoat, 
he  might  himself  have  been  one  of  the  pursued 
shadows,  slunk  into  this  coign  of  vantage  long 
enough  to  draw  breath  and  become  substance. 

And  out  of  the  little  wind-blown  stars,  the  Adi- 
rondacks  folded  like  clouds,  the  trees,  a  musical 
theme  untwisted  in  a  widening  spiral  of  imagined 
sound,  until  he  must  place  his  phantom  orchestra 
in  order  about  him,  banked  mistily  beyond  the 
veranda  rail,  bass  viols,  violins,  horns,  of  most  per- 
fect skill  —  to  elaborate  his  theme  for  him,  which 
should  next  winter  be  written  on  paper  and  played 
by  a  real  orchestra  —  when  he  and  Bess  were  mar- 
ried. 

His  idea  had  been  of  music  that  would  express 
placid  approval  of  a  world  which  now  and  then 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  267 

gave  a  man  what  he  wanted,  but  presently  his  genii 
began  a  very  different  exposition.  His  drowsy 
ears  heard  alien  voices,  —  undertones  and  over- 
tones, that  became  dominant  and  were  not  accord- 
ing to  such  mathematical  laws  of  sound  as  he  knew. 
There  was  disagreement  with  his  hypothesis  of  a 
kindly  world  wherein  a  man  might  receive  what 
he  desired,  —  there  was  no  provision,  they  said,  for 
such  an  outcome ;  it  was  not  feasible  that  there 
should  be,  for  such  conduct  would  be  at  variance 
with  some  large  law  of  more  importance  than  hap- 
piness. While  fretting  over  this  pessimistic  notion, 
he  fell  asleep,  and  into  the  misery  of  that  familiar 
dream. 

While  he  struggled  to  get  out  of  his  inert  body 
he  knew  that  the  customary  visitor  was  approach- 
ing down  the  length  of  the  veranda  behind  him,  yet 
his  half-open  eyes  could  not  change  their  focus 
from  the  veranda  pillar  and  a  patch  of  sky  and 
mountain.  And  then  the  creature  bent  over  him 
and  sighed,  so  that  its  breath  stirred  his  hair. 

He  writhed  free  and  seemed  to  fall  limply  at  his 
own  feet,  like  a  moth  just  out  of  its  cocoon,  then 
stood  up  peering  blindly  at  a  shadow  that  did  not, 
as  usual,  try  to  avoid  him  by  sneaking  to  his  rear. 
There  were  eyes,  and  bristling  ears. 

"  Why,  what  nonsense !  "  said  Biznet.  "  It 's 
the  loup-garou." 

It  became  clearer  when  he  had  named  it  and 
grinned  familiarly.  Biznet  grew  sober  and  thought 
of  that  remark  of  Elizabeth's  about  dreams  that 
Kitty  had  quoted  —  how  a  dream  may  be  an  alle- 


268  ROMAN  BIZNET 

gory,  and  have  within  its  ridiculousness  a  meaning 
that  something  we  speak  of  as  our  "  higher  ego  " 
wishes  to  teach  us. 

How  if  this  were  the  result  of  that  polarization 
which  had  so  long  been  making  confusion  within 
him  ?  If  his  two  selves  were  at  last  unfolded  from 
their  fourth  dimension,  and  now,  standing  face  to 
face,  might  settle  that  debate  forever ! 

Yet  it  was  with  an  inward  grin  at  taking  a  dream 
so  seriously  that  he  leaped  at  the  shadowy  throat, 
and  plunged  lightly  into  mid-air  with  his  enemy. 
And  it  would  seem  that  there  must  be  still  another 
self  somewhere  above  them  who  watched  the  strug- 
gle, saw  that  it  was  like  an  eddy  of  dust,  and  cried 
shrilly,  "Two  natures  war  within  us,"  not  giv- 
ing hope  of  victory  to  the  one  or  the  other,  but 
stating  a  law  of  the  world  as  inevitable  as  the  laws 
of  winds  and  tides. 

And  then  —  what  was  it  that  loped  gleefully 
across  the  garden  and  the  railroad  track  beyond 
it,  down  through  French  Hollow  and  the  marshy 
hummocks  of  the  Heathway  pasture,  frisked  among 
the  tree-trunks  of  the  woods,  then  back  through 
the  air,  as  a  sudden  notion  took  it,  to  sprawl  under 
Bess  Heathway's  window  and  look  up  with  lolling 
jaws. 

And  Bess  was  coming  down.  Bess  always  would 
come  if  Roman  Biznet  sat  under  her  window  and 
looked  up.  It  would  make  no  difference  how  bad 
and  strange  he  might  be,  nor  if  he  were  in  truth 
the  loup-garou. 

She    was   coming,   while    overhead    something 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  269 

whispered,  "  Warn  her !  —  warn  her  quickly  !  — 
that  two  natures  are  within  us,  and  that  one  of 
them  is  a  beast." 

Thereupon  he  sat  up,  broad  awake,  though  not 
quite  free  from  the  were-wolf ,  which  still  snarled 
within  him  because  the  dream  had  not  lasted  long 
enough  for  him  to  throttle  Bess  Heathway. 

A  red  ribbon  of  sunrise  had  stolen  out  from 
behind  Mount  Powasket's  shoulder. 

Something  creaked  down  among  the  apple-trees : 
he  turned  toward  the  sound,  like  a  cat  toward  the 
nibble  of  a  mouse.  That  should  be  the  thief,  com- 
ing from  the  Tracy  buff  cochins.  He  had  intended, 
if  this  crisis  came  about,  to  capture  him  cautiously, 
but  firmly,  and  take  him  in  civilized  manner  to  the 
county  jail.  But  his  neurotic  mind,  newly  roused 
from  the  dream  of  a  fight,  had  not  had  time  to  re- 
place things  upon  their  familiar  f ooting.  His  heart 
beat  with  savage  irregularity,  like  a  fist  striking  to 
left  and  right ;  there  was  turmoil  in  his  throat  and 
ear-drums. 

Leaping  lightly  over  the  veranda  rail,  he  scram- 
bled down  the  wistaria  vine,  sensible  of  an  apish 
lightness  of  body.  But  something  pressed  upon 
the  top  of  his  head:  he  thought  it  was  his  cap, 
and  tossed  it  away  to  let  the  wind  run  its  cold 
fingers  through  his  hair.  He  approached  the 
chicken-house,  skillfully  dodging  about  bushes  and 
fences ;  the  door  was  open.  Somewhere  in  the 
direction  of  the  dim  sunrise,  through  a  white  mist 
curling  and  lifting  from  the  lowlands,  there  came 


270  ROMAN  BIZNET 

a  despairing  buff  cochin  squawk.  It  was  stilled 
suddenly ;  but  there  was  a  scattering  of  yellow 
feathers,  and  presently  a  trail  of  blood  which  led 
the  way  when  the  squawks  were  silenced. 

The  rapid  action  of  running  and  the  brisk  air 
dragging  the  blood  from  his  brain  and  sending  it 
healthily  to  the  rest  of  his  body,  gave  his  gasping 
sanity  another  hold  on  life.  He  had  no  clear  idea 
of  what  he  should  do  with  the  thief  when  he  got 
him,  but  there  was  a  joyous  invincibility  about  his 
finger-tips.  He  laughed  suddenly  at  the  notion 
that  a  man's  throat  was  located  something  like 
that  of  a  'cello,  and  that  the  cords  of  his  neck,  if 
pressed  — 

"  Why,"  he  said  aloud,  "  that 's  something  the 
way  I  felt  after  Bauer's  hypodermic !  " 

The  Heathway  woods  lay  like  a  charcoal  smear 
in  the  mist.  He  stumbled  through  muck  beds; 
but  whatever  noise  he  made  would  pass  for  the 
blundering  of  the  cattle.  A  cow's  head,  the  rest 
of  her  wrapped  in  mist,  stared  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, like  a  mask  hung  in  the  air. 

"To  dream  of  cows  means  trouble,"  he  said. 
"  Whey  there  !  —  so,  boss,  so !  "  She  vanished 
with  a  windy  snort,  and  he  kept  on  until  a  tangle 
of  underbrush  caught  at  his  sleeves,  and  a  web  of 
small  roots  confused  his  feet.  His  eyes  could  not 
pierce  the  fog  as  they  could  darkness  ;  it  got  under 
his  lashes  like  wool.  He  could  hear  the  brook 
chuckling  in  front ;  the  other  side  of  it  there  was 
a  crackling  sound,  which  might  be  cattle.  But 
there  was  a  tiny  drop  of  blood  on  a  stone,  so  he 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  271 

knew  that  the  chicken  slayer  was  somewhere  near. 
It  was  a  tramp  evidently,  and  the  crackling  sound 
was  the  gathering  of  firewood. 

He  went  more  softly  then,  and  listened  between 
steps.  The  fog  was  thinner  in  the  woods ;  the  lit- 
tle brook,  reflecting  it,  was  as  white  as  milk.  It 
amused  him  to  be  watchful  and  cat-like  with  his 
quarry,  instead  of  collaring  him  at  once,  as  would 
have  been  quite  possible,  for  the  fellow  seemed  to 
feel  safe  and  careless  as  he  crashed  about  in  the 
underbrush. 

Then  an  opal-like  glow  shone  through  the  mist. 
He  had  built  his  fire  then,  and  presently  would  have 
chicken  for  breakfast.  Biznet  wondered  whether 
he  were  provided  with  pepper  and  salt.  He  was 
hungry  himself.  He  had  n't  been  hungry  for  so 
long !  He  had  once  been  familiar  with  this  kind 
of  breakfast.  While  the  chicken  is  cooking  one 
should  play  one's  violin;  that  times  them  well, 
and  when  they  are  done  — 

There  was  a  faint  musical  twang,  like  the 
string  of  a  violin.  Roman  Biznet  threw  his  arms 
about  a  friendly  tree-trunk,  hugging  it  tightly, 
unreasoningly,  as  one  in  some  sudden  peril  takes 
sanctuary  at  a  wayside  shrine.  The  rough  bark 
bruised  his  cheek;  he  stared  through  the  mist, 
and  put  up  a  groping  hand  to  fight  off  the  white 
obscurity.  Since  last  hearing  a  fiddle  in  these 
woods,  he  had  dreamed  of  knowing  people  of  gen- 
tle lives,  of  a  girl  with  yellow  hair  and  wise  gray 
eyes,  but  all  these  things  were  vanishing  as  if  they 
had  never  been ;  he  had  dreamed  that  he  was  a 


272  ROMAN  BIZNET 

man,  in  a  world  of  men,  but  he  was  waking,  and 
knew  these  things  were  impossible. 

And  Antoine  played :  Antoine,  then,  was  no 
dream.  As  he  played  his  son  came  slowly  to  him 
through  the  lifting  mist.  Antoine  gave  one  little 
start  when  Roman  appeared,  as  if  some  one  had 
jogged  his  elbow  ;  then  grinned  widely,  proceeding 
with  his  playing. 

"  Well,  Romy,"  he  said  at  last,  laying  down  the 
violin,  "  so  you  've  come  to  breakfast !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  dead  !  " 

"  Well,  I  ain't.     What  are  you  fainting  for  ?  " 

"I'm  not  fainting.  Take  that  bottle  away. 
Damn  you,  I  thought  you  were  dead  !  " 

"  Why,  you  dear  child  !  How  you  do  talk  !  " 
drawled  Tony.  "  Here,  drink,  damn  you !  —  and 
be  quick,  or  I  '11  hold  your  nose  !  " 

And  Rome,  around  whom  the  mist  had  changed 
from  white  to  black,  felt  his  throat  scorched  with 
his  father's  cheap  whiskey.  With  that  stinging 
fire  inside  him  the  world  seemed  a  better  place 
and  Antoine  not  such  a  bad  fellow.  He  looked  up 
at  his  father  and  laughed,  thinking  how  he  had 
feared  to  dream  of  him. 

"  That 's  the  way  to  talk,"  said  Antoine  kindly ; 
"  no  use  in  wishing  people  dead,  particularly  fathers. 
Sacre-damn !  how  you  look  like  me  !  I  mean  as  I 
was  at  the  Monastery  and  at  McGill  and  all  that, 
before  the  world  began  to  go  against  me." 

"  You  mean  before  you  began  to  go  against  the 
world?" 

"  No,  I  don't.     I  'm  all  right :  world 's  all  wrong. 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  273 

Chickens  are  done,  —  Tracy  chickens,  same  as  you 
get  at  home.  Vive  les  poulets !  " 

He  salted  and  peppered  the  chickens  (formerly 
there  had  been  no  salt  and  pepper,  Rome  re- 
membered) ;  then  they  ate,  —  carnivorously,  so 
that  one  would  not  have  liked  to  ask  a  share 
of  the  meal  for  fear  of  hurt.  Rome  ate  half  his 
chicken ;  then  reached  for  the  bottle  of  his  own 
accord. 

"  That 's  right,"  mumbled  the  hospitable  Tony, 
with  full  mouth  ;  "  help  yourself." 

But  at  the  cordial  invitation  Rome  stopped  and 
frowned,  as  though  his  father  had  said  "  Hands 
off ! "  Could  it  be  something  tangible  and  real 
that  plucked  at  his  coat  sleeve  ?  Did  a  hand  reach 
up  out  of  the  mouldy  leaves,  —  a  small,  firm  hand, 
like  Kitty's? 

To  drive  away  such  fancies  he  tilted  up  the  bot- 
tle and  drank  half.  Then  he  remembered  that  it 
was  somewhere  back  in  Canada  they  had  buried 
Phoebe,  so  she  could  not  have  crept  through  the 
earth  to  be  here  in  the  Cosmos  woods. 

It  was  a  good  world  and  a  reasonable  one,  if  you 
considered  it  rightly.  Or  was  it  he  and  Antoine 
who  were  good  and  reasonable  ?  And  did  the 
world  have  hard  work  in  living  up  to  their  stand- 
ard? 

"  Play  something !  By  George,  you  shall  play 
in  my  orchestra  this  winter  ;  we  '11  be  pals.  Tune 
up,  Tony." 

Tony  tuned  up,  and  Tony  played,  and  the  woods 
were  filled  with  bacchantes,  satyrs,  evil  faces,  until 


274  ROMAN  BIZNET 

Roman  Biznet  laughed  in  uproarious  content  to 
see  all  his  wicked  dreams  coming  true  at  last. 

"  Don't  stop,  Von  Kettner,"  he  shouted,  when 
Tony  paused  to  refresh  himself  from  the  bottle. 

"  Quoi  ?  "  said  Tony,  puzzled. 

"  Von  Kettner !  —  that  was  his  name,  and  should 
be  yours  and  mine.  Von  !  We  're  gentlemen,  you 
and  I." 

"  The  devil !     Your  head  must  be  weak." 

"  No,  it  ain't.  'S-strong  's  iron !  Gimme  the 
fiddle,  mon  pere,  till  I  play  you '  Ein  rothes  Maus- 
chen,'  —  then  you  '11  know !  " 

They  broke  the  fiddle  between  them  —  the  fid- 
dle from  Cremona  come  to  this,  by  what  devious 
paths !  Tony's  hair  sat  up  straight,  like  a  dog's 
hackles ;  his  narrow  forehead  lay  in  crosswise 
folds.  He  leaped  at  his  son's  throat  with  a  roar 
ending  in  a  falsetto  whimper,  fighting  with  his 
jaws,  gorilla-like.  Something  apart  from  the 
young  man,  yet  of  him,  still  and  watchful,  saw 
Roman  Biznet  gather  himself  up  to  the  counter- 
part of  his  father. 

They  bit,  tore,  scratched,  fighting  grotesquely, 
as  anthropoids  may  have  fought  before  men  were, 
—  burrowing  among  the  dead  leaves.  "  Two  na- 
tures war  within  us,"  said  a  voice  somewhere  very 
far  off.  They  strained  at  each  other  silently,  their 
veins  standing  out  on  their  foreheads,  knotted  and 
blue.  Tony's  teeth  were  fastened  in  his  son's  wrist. 
Suddenly  his  jaws  relaxed,  he  gasped,  and  tumbled 
in  a  quiet  heap. 

As  Rome  drew  back,  waiting  for  his  enemy  to 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  275 

show  some  new  sign  of  life  and  hostility,  he  heard 
the  voice  saying  again  in  a  calm  tone  of  virtuous 
triumph,  "  Two  natures  war  within  us." 

This  then  was  that  Other  Fellow  who  had  been 
giving  him  so  much  trouble  lately. 

The  Other  Fellow  did  not  stir.  Rome  stood  up, 
and  looked  down  at  him,  mistily.  His  wrist  hurt, 
and  he  examined  curiously  the  semicircle  of  blue 
marks  from  which  blood  was  oozing  painfully. 

The  broken  violin  caught  his  attention.  He 
picked  up  the  pieces  and  tried  to  fit  them  to- 
gether, looking  now  and  then  in  sulky  defiance  at 
the  prostrate  figure.  Tony  seemed  to  have  flat- 
tened, somehow,  and  sunk  deeper  into  the  dis- 
ordered leaves,  since  he  fell. 

The  mist  cleared  as  he  worked  over  the  broken 
edges  of  wood.  There  came  a  serene  smile  of 
early  sunlight  upon  the  bare  tops  of  trees.  A 
chipmunk,  dashing  past  on  some  urgent  errand, 
ran  over  the  quiet  figure  in  the  leaves. 

Roman  Biznet  looked  up  at  the  sunlight,  at  the 
distinct  tree-trunks,  at  a  crow  flapping  heavily  to- 
ward a  dead  pine,  at  the  fragments  of  wood  in  his 
hands,  at  the  motionless  man  in  the  leaves.  What- 
ever cloud  it  was  that  had  rested  upon  him  that 
night,  dissolved. 

Dr.  Winthrop  was  asleep,  so  his  curtains  said 
to  all  who  passed,  and  the  boys  going  by  to  school 
stopped  whistling,  according  to  many  years'  cus- 
tom. The  fathers  of  some  of  them  had  been  drilled 
to  it  before  them.  Even  to-day,  when  the  house 


276  ROMAN  BIZNET 

stands  empty,  there  are  men  who  will  tell  you  that 
they  fall  silent  from  habit  as  they  pass,  and  that  the 
fearless  whistle  of  the  youngest  generation  seems  to 
them  sacrilege  and  insult,  although  they  know  that 
the  little  doctor  has  now  slept  almost  long  enough 
to  make  up  for  those  many  white  nights,  and  by 
glancing  at  a  hill  just  beyond  the  house  one  can 
distinguish  the  stone  that  symbolizes  this  rest,  as 
the  drawn  curtains  of  his  window  used  to  do. 

On  this  morning,  the  curtains  being  drawn, 
there  was  no  one  in  all  the  village  who  would  have 
waked  him. 

Yet  some  one  pounded  on  his  door,  stammering 
his  name  with  lips  too  stiff  with  fear  to  be  intel- 
ligible ;  and  the  little  doctor,  waking,  knew  that 
here  was  one  worse  off  than  he. 

When  he  opened  his  door  Biznet  fell  across  the 
threshold.  His  face  was  .ghastly,  his  eyes  dim 
and  staring ;  his  mouth  opened  and  shut  spasmodi- 
cally as  he  breathed. 

Dragging  him  to  his  own  bed,  the  doctor  worked 
over  him  patiently,  doing  this  and  that  in  an  easy, 
precise  way  without  question,  as  he  had  once  worked 
on  battle  fields,  until  the  stertorous  breathing 
stopped.  The  boy's  eyes  shone  wide  with  intel- 
ligence and  terror.  He  put  up  his  arms  around  the 
doctor's  neck  and  drew  him  down,  holding  him 
tight,  babbling  softly  an  incoherent  story  about 
something  dead  in  the  woods,  about  his  mother, 
about  Alphonsine,  about  Kitty,  about  Bess  Heath- 
way  —  so  that  the  doctor,  not  understanding  who 
it  was  that  lay  dead  in  the  woods,  fell  into  a 
panic  about  Bess  Ileathway. 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  277 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  in  a  sterner  voice  than  he 
had  used  since  the  days  of  battle,  — "  tell  me  at 
once  exactly  what  has  happened." 

And  the  sharp  voice  did  what  kindness  could 
not  have  done.  Biznet  sat  up.  "  I  Ve  killed  my 
father.  Will  you  go  with  me  to  the  woods  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  Biznet  explained 
as  they  walked  together  through  the  fresh  blue 
morning. 

"  By  your  breath  you  've  been  drinking." 

"  That  is  n't  what  made  me  do  it.  Something 
happened  in  my  head.  Two  natures  war  within 
us."  He  spoke  in  a  bewildered  way,  mechanically, 
as  if  repeating  a  lesson.  "  I  think  I  thought  he 
was  some  one  else.  Two  natures  war  within  us." 

"  What  did  you  do  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  How  long  ago  was  it  that  he 
and  I  buried  my  mother  in  the  woods  ?  And  he 
killed  Phosy.  Nobody  knew  that  but  Kitty,  but 
it  does  n't  matter  now.  She 's  married.  I  did  n't 
want  Bess  to  know,  either.  But  it  does  n't  matter. 
You  may  tell  her  if  you  like.  Two  natures  "  — 

They  left  the  crisp  glare  of  sunlight  for  the 
broken  shadows  of  the  woods,  and  stepped  across 
the  chuckling  brook.  The  fire  still  smouldered, 
having  reached  out  a  red  tongue  to  lick  at  a  pile 
of  leaves  near.  Pieces  of  the  violin  lay  scattered 
about,  as  Rome  had  dropped  them  when  he  fled. 
A  little  further  was  what  the  doctor  at  first 
thought  to  be  a  prone  tree-trunk. 

Antoine  lay  sprawled  and  huddled,  dingy  and 
threadbare  as  a  long  dead  leaf.  Dr.  Winthrop 


278  ROMAN  BIZNET 

put  his  hand  on  a  thin  shoulder  and  turned  him 
over.  The  eyes,  half  open,  were  still  bright  as  if 
with  intelligence,  but  the  lines  of  the  face  were 
relaxed  to  such  a  degree  that  one  could  not  have 
said  with  any  great  assurance,  "  This  man  was  a 
devil."  He  seemed  placid,  somnolent,  even  kindly. 

And  when  the  doctor  had  looked  over  the  body, 
straightening  it  out  into  some  dignity,  he  almost 
laughed  with  relief,  for  there  was  no  mark  on 
him. 

"  No  tragedy  here,  my  boy.  It 's  as  natural  a 
thing  as  sleep,  —  a  matter  with  which  we  need  not 
concern  ourselves,  except  to  be  glad." 

Biznet  went  for  other  men,  while  the  doctor  sat  by 
Antoine.  He  laid  the  Cremona  on  the  fire,  where 
it  sent  out  a  faint  resinous  odor  like  sandalwood, 
and  he  sat  so  still  that  a  crow,  swooping  down, 
had  almost  lighted  on  the  dead  face  before  it 
descried  the  living  watcher  and  flapped  away  with 
a  startled  "  Quoi ! " 

If  one  might  so  fight  with  one's  self,  thought 
the  doctor,  as  the  lad  in  his  delirium  had  fancied 
he  was  doing,  life  would  be  simpler.  To  bring  the 
thing,  once,  thus,  to  tangible  debate  and  then  to 
leave  the  worse  element  vanquished  and  dead ! 

He  bent  over  the  dead  man  and  studied  care- 
fully the  ill-planned  head  and  features.  Every- 
thing seemed  so  wretchedly  wrong  !  Who  blames 
the  rattlesnake  for  its  poisonous  bite  ?  Its  venom 
was  carefully  constructed  to  that  end  in  the  cruci- 
ble that  fashioned  the  first  snake. 

Perhaps  for  Antoine  there  was  nothing  but  evil 


DOCTOR  WINTHROP  279 

possible.  Yet  in  his  son  there  was  a  germ  of  de- 
sire. By  a  germ  of  desire  mens'  skulls  have  been 
enlarged  from  generation  to  generation,  until  at 
last  a  man  is  rather  worthier  than  an  ape.  Can 
one  man  do  what  the  race  has  done  ?  Dr.  Win- 
throp  wanted  very  much  to  think  it  possible.  If 
the  boy  could  keep  well  —  if  Bessie  would  make 
him  a  wise  and  loving  wife  —  here  the  doctor 
shuddered  at  the  idea  of  that  experiment's  failing, 
but  his  patient  philosophy  comforted  him  with  the 
idea  that  life  is  not  very  long  and  that  its  chief 
use  seems  to  be  as  an  experiment  anyway. 

Love  might  do  much,  and  then  there  was  the 
music,  so  much  greater  in  him  than  in  his  ances- 
tors. One  might  hope  at  least. 

Antoine's  heart  had  broken  with  his  fiddle. 
When  Roman  Biznet  was  his  own  man  again  he 
grieved  for  them  both,  yet  exulted,  too,  in  a  way, 
as  if  it  had  been  in  some  sort  a  victory.  And 
Cosmos  never  knew  the  name  and  the  history  of 
the  dead  chicken-thief,  deciding  after  a  brief  in- 
quiry that  the  battle  redounded  to  Roman  Biznet's 
credit,  even  Squire  Heathway  admitting  that  he 
had  not  supposed  the  boy  possessed  of  so  much 
grit. 

It  was  Dr.  Winthrop  who  persuaded  Home  to 
keep  silence  in  the  matter,  arguing  that  there  was 
much  to  be  lost  and  nothing  to  be  gained  by  pub- 
lishing Antoine's  identity.  It  was  to  conceal  it 
that  he  had  burned  those  precious  fragments  of 
the  Cremona. 

But  the  little  doctor  mused  much  over  that 


280  ROMAN  BIZNET 

notion  of  Roman  Biznet's  that  his  lower  nature 
was  somehow  embodied  in  his  father.  It  seemed 
to  make  a  satisfactory  allegory,  when  one  put  it 
that  way,  as  if  most  moral  struggles  were  in  the 
•nature  of  parricide. 


(<£bc 

Electrotyptd  and printed  by  H.  O.  Hougkton  &*  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S,  A, 


A     000127539     5 


